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^ ^ A SEQUEL TO “ TWO BAD BROWN EYES » 


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MARIE ST. F^LIX Ia.U>u^ • 

AUTHOR OF “A LITTLE GAME WITH DESTINY,” ETC. 

»* ' 

“ I dreamed, I was stationed forever, 

On a bare little isle in the midst of the sea. 

My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor 
To sweep back the waves, ere they swept over me.” 




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NEW YORK 


THE MERRIAM COMPANY 

67 PTfth Avenue 






Copyright, by 
MARIE ST. F£LIX, 
1895. 

Copyright, by 

THE MERRIAM COMPANY, 

1895. 




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DEDICATED 


TO 

2)eare0t. 


I mocked at Love ! 

Love seemed a little thing ; 

‘ A small, blind god,’ I said, 

‘ With golden wing, 

A jest when false, a better jest when true ! 

Laughter will always ring at thought of you.’ 

/ did not know. 


I looked on love ! 

Ah, me ! I mocked no more. 

Within his hand a flaming sword he bore ; 

His eyes were great and sad, and bitter-sweet ! 
Beneath his gaze my heart, all laboring, beat. 

/ knew, I kftew. 



PATRICIA 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Long is the way and hard that out of hell leads up to light. ” 

Paradise Lost. 

A DULL day in early September was fading into the 
gray of evening. Children, tired of their play, strolled 
listlessly homeward. A group of small boys stole a 
ride on the back of a passing wagon, at the risk of a 
smart cut from the driver’s whip, or a tumble into the 
ditch, as they were whirled around the corner. A tall, 
gawky lad, with trousers too short and coat too big, 
hurried down the street, stopping at each lamp-post 
along the way, to poke an odd long iron-rod, with 
sputtering flame at its end, up into the big square- 
frames on the post tops. A faint yellow flicker usually 
followed this process, but the boy did not stop to 
note whether success or failure resulted ; he was in 
much too big a hurry to await effects. Having thrust 


8 


PATRICIA. 


the pole into the chimney, he considered his duty 
done, and hastened carelessly on. 

Beyond, on the avenue which crossed the end of the 
street, the clanging cable-cars rushed noisily by, fre- 
quently slowing up a bit, while a man swung himself 
off to the ground running a few steps to preserve his 
equilibrium, and then, of a sudden, striking an absurdly 
dignified gait, seemingly challenging the passers-by to 
dare think he had not been running in that helter-skel- 
ter fashion for the fun of the thing — not at all because 
he was compelled to. 

Now, lights began to appear in the houses, and little 
heads clustered at the casement to watch the cars that 
flew by the streets in such swift succession — plainly 
visible from the windows of the houses by the corner. 
Then a group of eager little faces would vanish from 
some window, the door of the house would fly wide 
open, and a man, coming up the steps, would nod and 
smile, and, coming to them, stoop and kiss each tiny 
upturned mouth. 

Honora Herrick sat in her own broad bay window, 
watching all the pretty panorama without. Nestled 
close up to the pane, half reclining on the mass of soft 
cushions scattered over the wide window seat, she was 
a picture of comfort and content ; but if her pose in- 
dicated peace, her sad face and weary eyes quickly con- 
tradicted this appearance. She pressed her face closer 


IPATRICIA. 


9 


to the pane, and the cool glass soothed her burn- 
ing cheeks, as she peered out in the dusk; but 
the sound of carriage wheels seemed to startle 
and alarm her, while her heart beat like a lusty 
trip-hammer each time a cable-train stopped at the 
crossing. 

If he would only come ! So long she had been 
watching. Surely he was very late. Suppose he 
should not come at all! But no — he would arrive! 
He might be guilty of a cruelty, but never of a dis- 
courtesy! He had written her a charming little note, 
expressing his pleasure at being asked to “ dine at her 
dainty board ” his last evening in Chicago, without a 
seeming suspicion of her underlying motive in request- 
ing that he came alone, and brought her the whole even- 
ing! 

“ You are not to bring Teddy Page or Billy Ban- 
croft,” she had written. “ I am not asking them. 
I want you, and you alone ; and I want you for the en- 
tire evening, so do not be making any appointments 
for later on. I have much to talk with you about. I 
may make you very angry ; but if one may not occa- 
sionally claim all the privileges of old friendship, what 
is friendship worth ? On the other hand, I am going 
to treat you uncommonly well, for I have just put 
away on the ice a most beautiful fruit salad, such as 
only Honora Herrick can concoct ! It is made with 


10 


PATRICIA. 


my very best claret and a dash of fine cura^oa, and 
when I have fed you with a small dish of it you will 
be powerless to refuse me anything that I ask ! Now, 
will you come ! — or don t you dare ? A toi. 

“ Honora.” 

What wouldn’t Tommy Pell dare! Of course he 
had replied as she desired. But, surely, he was very 
ceremonious to-night, and evidently did not intend to 
arrive a second sooner than the hour appointed for 
dinner. 

Again a car stopped at the corner, and she 
leaned eagerly forward with palpitating pulse ; — but 
the man who sprang off was taller than Tom, and he 
was greeted, moreover, by two tiny boys who awaited 
him. He gave them each a small parcel to carry, and 
Honora watched them as they trotted proudly along 
by his side and disappeared into the gloom. 

How happy every one seemed 1 Even the little 
lamplighter with his misfit clothes was apparently 
hurrying home to a hot supper, which undoubtedly 
was a joyful event for hhn. 

She dashed the sudden tears from her eyes, and, 
rising hastily, paced impatiently up and down the small 
salon. Absorbed in her own sad thoughts, and in con- 
templation of the outer world, she had neglected to 
ring for lights ; but the room was not in darkness. 


PATRICIA. 


I 


The rising moon sent a glimmering light into the apart- 
ment, casting long shadows here and there, and mak- 
ing weird shapes upon the walls ; but within a little 
alcove, at one corner of the room, no shadow rested. 
The pale moon shed a lavish light upon this small 
niche, flooding it with a soft, silvery shimmer. 

There was a table in the alcove, with a vase upon the 
top, filled with long-stemmed Marechal Niel roses. A 
child’s playthings were carelessly scattered on a shelf 
below, and there was a book or two, with brilliantly 
colored covers. A toy sheep, with one leg missing, 
nestled up to a rubber dolly with a rent in her calico 
frock ; and a picture book, decorated on the front with 
a big red elephant, ridden by a jockey apparelled in 
raiment which mocked the rainbow, stood upright 
against the table leg, and served as a prop for the 
dolly. 

Honora paused at the alcove, and looked up, above 
the roses, to a little pictured face on the wall. A baby’s 
wee face, with big, serious brown eyes, and fair, wavy 
hair that fell lightly on the forehead. A pretty baby, 
but with something strange and sombre in the gentle 
eyes, which gave the tiny face a weirdly grave expres- 
sion. 

The woman broke the stem of a rose in two, denuded 
the remainder of its thorns, and laid the flower on the 
frame. 


12 


PATRICIA. 


My little baby ! ” she murmured brokenly. ^ Can 
you look down and love me ? Can you love your 
weak, wicked mother? Would you put out your little 
hand and touch me, if you could, my Philippa ? Or 
would you run and hide, little dear one! Dear God ! 
how infamously have I sinned ! To be always, forever 
responsible for the ruined life of a young girl ! There 
can be no other crime under heaven so evil! I can 
never escape from its brand ! It has seared my soul. 
And all to break the heart of the man who broke 
mine ! All to bring my baby’s father deep into the 
mire — as he had brought me ! And oh, my baby, it 
hasnt been worth the while ! 

“ I have had my triumph. I could drink my fill of 
his suffering ; and it wasn’t worth the while ! It wasn’t 
worth the scalding tears I have caused the poor little 
Patricia. It wasn’t worth the remorse that pursues 
me ! ” 

The baby’s soft, sombre eyes looked gently down 
upon the woman lamenting — seemed to look censur- 
ingly back into the big brown eyes, of which her own 
were a counterpart. And the woman, bathed in the 
white light of the moon, her pale face tear-stained, her 
hands locked tightly behind her, looked appealing, up- 
ward, as though praying the child for gentle judg- 
ment. 

“ Deary' she said speaking again, “ do you know, I 


PATRICIA. . 13 

3.m glad, to-day, that you are gone. I am glad, sweetest, 
that you are beyond it all. My heart has longed for 
your tiny arms and your pretty broken prattle ; but, at 
last, I cease to sorrow for you. I would not have you 
back. Blessed are the dead, for they are at rest ! 


14 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER II. 

“ So, when two dogs are fighting in the street, 

With a third dog, one of the two dogs meets ; 

With angry teeth, he bites him to the bone. 

And this dog smarts for what that dog has done.” 

Henry Fielding. 

Honora Herrick was said by artists of the Lathi 
Quarter to be the most beautiful woman in Paris ; 
but a mere line, a dimpled elbow, or a pair of fine eyes 
have been known to work such havoc with an artist’s 
judgment that he has sometimes been blinded to any 
possible imperfection in the whole, by the beauty of 
the single point he set store upon. 

Miss Herrick had many perfections. She was tall, 
well-proportioned, and, if somewhat arrogant in carriage, 
could not, even by her enemies, be styled ungraceful. 
Her small head was poised upon her firm, white throat, 
with swanlike stateliness. The deep brown eyes were 
rich in color ; her skin Recklessly fair ; and as for the 
hair of her head, one, more enthusiastic than the rest, 
had styled it shredded sunlight! It was fine, and 
crisp, and wavy, and escaped being flaxen by the 
golden glint upon it. There was a long wide part, 


PATRICIA. 


5 


uncompromisingly straight, from the crown of her head 
to the top of her forehead, and from this demure part- 
ing the hair was, brushed smoothly down and knotted 
neatly in the back. There was never a suspicion of a 
“ bang,” nor a “ love-lock ; ” but, yet, it would seem, 
they were somewhat rebellious tresses, for they never 
would stay in the very meek manner they first were 
put. They might be brushed as flat as a tennis court, 
but soon they would kink and wave until each sep- 
arate hair rippled all over her shapely head, even out 
and into the small, tightly-twisted knot at the back, 
held by tiny Mercury wings of tortoise-shell. 

Miss Herrick’s history was as famous as her face and 
figure ; but her biography differed from her beauty, in 
being far from fair. Born and bred in a small country 
village, left motherless at an early age, living a lonely, 
isolated existence with but few congenial friends about 
her, and only the companionship of a father of whom 
she stood in great awe, she had fallen deeply in love 
with a young clergyman who came on a visit to their 
parish the summer she became eighteen. Thrown 
much together, young' Philip Allan, who had been a 
widower the four years past, paid tender court to her. 
They read together, roamed the hills together, spent 
long hours upon a little lake in the warm moonlight ; 
and at the end of one long sultry day he had caught 
her to him with sudden fervor and kissed her; had 


6 


PATRICIA. 


told her how he loved her; had murmured such 
precious phrases into her willing ears that her pulse 
leaped and her heart tumultously beat. 

And she had kissed him in return — shyly, at first, 
— then, as he showered passionate caresses all over her 
pretty, uplifted face, her yielding lips clung to his own, 
with all the abandon of innocence. Her head lay 
pillowed in his arms, as she looked lovingly up into his 
glowing eyes, their fierce fire flaming into hers. His 
hot breath intoxicated her. She felt herself grow 
weak and faint — her senses swaying. Then she had 
pushed him gently from her and sat a little way from 
him. Yet his eyes still held hers. 

“ Sing to me,” he had whispered, and out into the 
stillness, in clear, sweet tones, rang the plaintive notes 
of that matchless melody, the Schubert Serenade. 

“ And the night for love was given f 

tremulously came the refrain ; then a tenor tone 
joined hers. 

“ And the night for love was given.^’’ 

Then again his arm encircled her once more, his 
lips rested upon hers. “ Do not shrink from me, love,” 
he implored her. “ Love me ! Love me enough to be 
mine.” 

And there was no one to tell her that the love he 
plead for was the gift of her soul. 


PATRICIA. 


17 

All the parish knew when her baby was born in 
Paris that it was born out of wedlock and that its 
father was the Rev. Philip Allan, for she made no 
secret of the story. Her father’s sudden death, when 
he learned of his daughter’s dishonor, the desertion of 
Philip and the announcement of his betrothal to a 
more virtuous woman, so numbed her to all sense of 
shame, so hardened and warped all tender traits, that 
she felt a contempt for every living thing, save one, — 
her baby. But even her love for her child could not 
heal the wide wound in her heart ; could not make 
the world less drear. What mattered it who knew the 
truth ! What could the scorn of all the world mat- 
ter now! Yes, the baby was hers — and it was true 
that she was not Mrs. but Miss Herrick. The child 
she should call Philippa Allan — the father was the 
Rev. Philip Allan of New York. No, he had not 
married her — he had married some one else. 

Philippa had been a strange child : — sensitive, shy, 
shrinking from strangers, seldom merry, but never 
petulant — always peculiarly patient and uncomplaining. 
Then after two years she had died. 

When they buried the little Philippa, they buried also, 
in that tiny grave at Pere la Chaise, heart of Honora. 

She hardly knew where she went, or what she did, 
in her first despair. The only thing in the world worth 
living for was now taken from her^ and sh^ plunged 


i8 


PATRICIA. 


into reckless rioting. She gambled at Monte Carlo 
where she won the devotion — and the roubles — of a 
Russian prince; she spent a season in Venice, where 
she was known as the friend of a Duke. She wintered 
in Rome ; May found her in London, and soon after 
she was back in Paris, where she attracted general 
admiration and attention at the Grand Prix. 

But it was nearly fifteen years from the day she 
sailed from New York for Liverpool, before she again 
set foot in America. A sudden whim to get a glimpse 
of the great Fair had resulted in her sailing the follow- 
ing day. The day after her arrival in Chicago she 
ran across her old friend, Tommy Pell, and he had in- 
troduced her to an acquaintance — Miss Allan — Miss 
Patricia Allan — the daughter of the Rev. Philip Allan 
of the hamlet of Schuylerville, Massachusetts. For 
there had been no room in New York church-circles 
for the Reverend Philip after certain tales from Paris 
had reached the bishop’s ear. 

Honora lay longer awake that night. Tom had pre- 
sented her as Madame Harjes.” He knew Honora’s 
story, and had learned Patricia’s identity, and not 
knowing whether or not Miss Allan had ever been 
told of her father’s early affaire — gossip being 
sometimes most uncomfortably far-reaching — invented 
on the instant a new name for Miss Herrick, nonchab 
antly explaining his motive later, 


PATRICIA. 


9 


Honora remembered to-night her last interview with 
Philip. He had advised her that day to retire to a 
Retreat. He would give her letters to a Sisterhood. 
He would forgive her that she had led him astray, but 
she should pray for the forgiveness of Heaven ! How 
angry he had been when she stooped to kiss the little 
Titian-tressed Patricia, who toddled into the hall as 
she was leaving Philip’s study ! “ Never dare speak to 

or touch Patricia Allan so long as you live,” he had 
commanded. 

And now ! Here was the little Patricia grown quite to 
womanhood, at just the age she herself had been when 
she first met Philip Allan. Patricia was alone at the 
Fair, wretchedly uncomfortable in a cheap boarding- 
place. Honora would take an apartment and Patricia 
should come to stay with her. She had a few little 
tricks to teach Miss Patricia which would disconcert, 
if no more, the Reverend Philip. 

Patricia should learn to smoke cigarettes, and should 
be given free range of the wine bin. Furthermore — 
well, perhaps not that ! But Tommy Pell was a very 
fascinating fellow — who could tell ! 

If ever the devil helped his own, Honora was ably 
assisted. Everything went her way. Patricia was 
only too eager to accept Madame Harjes gener- 

ous invitation,” and the consent of the Reverend Mr 
Allan was obtained as soon as he had consulted the 


20 


PATRICIA. 


banker’s references she had furnished. And impulsive, 
warm-hearted little Patricia soon thought the sun rose 
and set in '^Madame Harjes,'" and desired to emulate 
her in all things. Cocktails and rickeys and even ab- 
sinthes frappes she tossed down her young throat be- 
cause Honora had told her they were good and gay. 
Cigarettes, which suffocated her, and scorched her, she 
valiantly struggled to master, and did not strive in 
vain. And without any attempt at the achievement, 
she fell in love with Mr. Pell, as many older and wiser 
women had done before her. 

As for Mr. Pell — he fancied himself very fond of 
Patricia. She was pretty and dainty and quaint. 
He knew of an apartment on the Champs Ely- 
s^es which was verily made for her. There were 
moss-green hangings in the salon, and uphols- 
tery of green and gold. The tenant, his friend Bob 
Jerome, was about to return to America and had 
offered it to him for a song. If Patricia would care 
for him 

It was at the end of August that a trip up Lake 
Michigan in the yacht Mariquita came to pass. Tom 
was host, having chartered the yacht from a friend 
who was “ doing the Fair.” Honora was. the very ami- 
able chaperon. For the rest there were Billy Ban- 
croft and Teddy Page; a jolly little English souhrette ; 
and Patricia, 


PATRICIA. 


21 


And, thereafter, everything dated for Patricia from 
the cruise of the Mariquita, It was “ before ” or 
“ after ” the yachting trip, that she located all things. 
The cruise itself was enveloped in mist, in her rec- 
ollection. She remembered the start — and the return. 
Between, was a confused recollection of cocktails and 
sherry flips and cobblers ; of rivulets of red and yellow 
wine, of blue and red and yellow ivory things, stacked 
upon a small round table, where Honora seemed to be 
always engaged, while such puzzling phrases as “ three 
ladies,” a flush,” “ four beauties of a kind,” penetrated 
the cosy corner where she and Tom were comfortably 
ensconced. And the long, languorous evenings — how 
quickly they had flitted by ! The last day seemed to 
tread upon the first. And there had come a last night. 
How hard it had been to say “ Good-night'' when 
Tom had taken her below. She had tried — oh, she had 
tried to tell him to leave her — but he was so dear. 
Every one else was sleeping — they, alone, were awake. 
The caress of his face against hers gave gladness. The 
tender touch of his lips was a joy. 

Patricia had remained below the following day 
with a headache, and Honora had gone to see her. 
She had sat down on the bed beside Patsy, and, hold- 
ing the feverish little hands in hers, had told her the 
miserable history of her life — of her love for Patricia’s 
father — of his perfidy. 


22 


PATRICIA, 


Patricia sobbed herself ill, when Honora had re- 
turned to the deck. She was quite a little ghost when 
she joined the others as the Mariqiiita came to anchor. 
Every one condoled with her upon such a frightful 
headache. She did not speak much, and avoided 
looking at Tom. 

Arriving at home, she went directly to bed, for the 
poor little head throbbed wildly. She declined toast 
and tea, but implored Honora to give her wine, and 
would not be quieted till it was brought her. 

Then Honora had gone to her room, and Ellen had 
come to her to announce that the Reverend Philip 
Allan awaited Madame Harjes in the parlor. 

The scene which followed was worthy of a good 
stage setting. The good clergyman had come to see 
the Fair and escort his daughter home. When he dis- 
covered Honora Herrick in the hospitable Madame 
Harjes his rage knew no bounds. Honora smiled se- 
renely when he raved, and sneered when he plead. 
That he had been duped how it maddened him 1 O, it 
was an infamous thing, that she should dare take into 
her home kis daughter. 

And Honora smiled. 

But this that she told him — it was a lie — and then 
he begged her to say it was not true ; in tears he im- 
plored her not to revenge herself upon him with a false- 
hood. “ Say it is not truef hebeseeched her, huskily. 


PATRICIA. 23 

Honora shrugged her shoulders slowly and her lip 
curled. 

“ It is no lie,” she said, in measured tones. “ Mr. 
Pell, who has had many mistresses, desires to add your 
daughter to the list. I saw him leaving her stateroom 
at daylight, as I have told you. Should he find, how- 
ever, that he overestimated his desire for her, I have 
not the least doubt that he will do all he can for her. 
He will undoubtedly provide her with letters to a 
proper Retreat — some place where women who have 
cast honor to the winds, for love’s sake, may be sheltered 
and hidden. That will meet your approval, will it not, 
Philip? and, it is possible, you know just the place to 
suggest ; ” and she smiled again, that slow, sweet sym- 
pathetic smile, which the dangerous gleam in her dark 
eyes contradicted. 

It had been a long, a trying, and a harrowing hour. 
Patricia had come in, with her hair tousled over her 
forehead, and clad in her long white night robe. Per- 
haps I should say that she tumbled in, for her gait was 
something alarming, leaving no doubt in the minds of 
her audience as to the nature of the nourishment she 
had taken. She refused her father’s proffered embraces, 
declared that forever after she should remain with 
“ Madame Harjes^'' and guyed his grief with merriest 
laughter. 

But at last it was ended. Philip was gone — angrily 


24 


PATRICIA. 


renouncing his daughter at the door — while she, poor 
little maid, was serenely sleeping. 

Honora sat before her dressing-table brushing out 
into smooth, long strands her heavy, golden hair. She 
looked wearily at the pale, tired face in the mirror. 
There were dark-blue lines beneath the eyes. Her lip 
trembled, piteously. 

“ I have been bad, God,” she said, in the tones of a 
little child. And now I am sorry ! I might have 
been sorry, sooner, I suppose — but it is never till 
afterwards I get sorry ! I will try so hard to atone to 
her in some way. But there will always remain the 
appalling fact that all the king’s horses and all the 
king’s men can’t make Patsy Allan a good girl again ! ” 
Then a wan little smile crept over her face. I am 
sorry to have been so wicked * but what a beauteous 
moment that was when I told Philip ! ** 


PATRICIA. 


25 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Life is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel.” 

A SMART rap on the door aroused Honora from her 
melancholy reverie, as she stood in the moonlit alcove. 
She wiped the moisture from her eyelashes, plucked a 
long-stemmed rose from the vase and thrust it through 
her belt ; then gave the invitation to enter. 

Mr. Pell, debonair and smiling, stood upon the thresh- 
old. She pressed her hands to her eyes with a little 
cry. “ The light is very dazzling ! Or is it you^ 
Tommo ? ” she exclaimed. 

And why are you shut up in this gloom ? ” he 
queried, advancing to greet her. 

“ I have been looking out into the street, watching 
for you ; ” she smiled, “ and I had not noticed how dark 
it had become.” 

“ And I am very nearly late,” he exclaimed, very 
penitently. “You see, I was talking to a deucedly 
pretty girl ” 

“You are pardoned! No man could be expected 
to tear himself away from a pretty girl — not even to 
get his dinner. I appreciate that I have you at all ! ” 


26 


PATRICIA. 


“ Well, you see, the girl was going to dine with an- 
other man ” 

“ Then I am indebted to the girl for your society.” 

“ No, — to the other man. He came up just in time 
for me to keep my engagement with you in this beauti- 
fully punctual fashion. You couldn’t thank the girl. 
She felt dreadfully to tear herself away from me.” 

“ Probably she was wishing you would go fully five 
minutes sooner.” 

“ I assure you ” 

“ I assure yoti^' she interrupted, “ that I am very 
hungry. Could you tell me about her just as well at 
table?” 

“ At your table. Princess, I prefer to eat ; and,” he 
added, following her to the dining-room, “ I have 
brought a mountain appetite and Kentucky thirst 
along ! ” 

The table was laid for two. Red roses were grace- 
fully grouped on a mat of ferns in the centre, without 
vase or bowl. Tiny fairy lamps twinkled at the corners. 
A pat of butter rested upon a bed of lettuce hearts in 
a plate of delicate Belleek ; and the diminutive slices of 
toast spread with caviare and sprinkled with egg 
flakes, lay upon a pretty Belleek platter with fluted 
edge. 

‘‘ It makes me hungry just to think of dining at 
your board, Honora,” said Mr. Pell, helping himself 


PATRICIA. 27 

to a glass of sherry and bitters. “ I shall miss these 
delicious little repasts of yours.” 

“ I hope you will dine with me in Paris before the 
year has rolled by,” she answered. “ How soon do you 
sail ? ” 

‘‘ Well, to-morrow I proceed to New York, loaf about 
the town ten days or a fortnight, and then sail for 
Liverpool. I have some invitations to shoot in Scot- 
land that I believe I will accept, and, later, I may 
make a tour of Ireland. I have confined my travels 
pretty closely to the Continent heretofore, and have a 
fancy for pastures new. However, I am very apt to 
be in Paris later on. When are you returning ? ” 

“ Almost immediately,” she answered. “ I began 
packing up to-day.” 

“Then I will see you in New York?” 

“ If you should care to,” she said, looking seriously 
into his face. 

Tom smiled at her gravity. 

“ I could not fail to care to,” he answered. “ Where 
shall you stop? ” 

“ At the Waldorf, I think. They say it is one of 
the sights of the city, so I may as well become ac- 
quainted with it. I shall only stay a few days. If I 
arrive Sunday, as I now expect to, I shall sail on 
Thursday.” 

“ You go by way of Genoa ? ” 


2 ^ 


i^ATRIClA. 


“Yes.” 

“And Patricia?” he inquired, carelessly. 

“ I shall take Patricia with me,” she said quietly. 

Ellen passed through the room with a tray. 

“ Does she prefer to dine alone ? ” he asked, looking 
after the maid who went down the hall to Patricia’s 
door. 

“ She has not left her room since the day she came 
from the Mariquitay' Honora replied. 

“Why not?” he demanded. 

Honora looked back at him, meditatively, but made 
no reply. 

“ Why not ? ” he repeated, impatiently. “ Is she ill ? ” 

“No-o,” said Honora, “ not ill; but she does not 
care to come to table, or to go out anywhere. She 
dresses every afternoon, and sews or reads. She is not 
very happy.” 

“ She is acting very absurdly, and very rude to you, 
her hostess.” 

Honora paled. “ Tommo, nothing that Patricia 
could do would ever be rude to me. I wish her to do 
quite as she likes about staying away from me.” 

“ And yet you say you shall take her to Europe 
with you ? ” 

“ Yes. I can hardly leave her here alone,” she an- 
swered gently. 

“ Why doesn’t she go home? ” 


PATRICIA. 


29 


Honora flung her head high and looked at him. 

“ Because of you ! ” she answered slowly. 

Mr. Pell drained his glass dry, and reached for the 
Burgundy basket. 

“ You are very concise in your statements,” he said 
coolly, “ but they seem to me somewhat extravagant. If 
Miss Allan is to be a burden to you through any act of 
mine ” 

“ Patricia is too dear to me to ever be a burden,” in- 
dignantly interrupted Honora. 

Tom looked up in undisguised amazement, but the 
entrance of Ellen with the promised fruit salad pre- 
vented his reply. 

“ Don’t forget that you are to say it is very good,” 
she said, as she sent him his plate. 

“ Almost too good,” he said, tasting a bit of peach. 

You are treating me too uncommonly well. I am 
suspicious of you. What is it you will want? ” 

“ Well, I do not want to go Scotland with you. I 
suppose you are flattering yourself that I am going to 
beg to go along.” 

Tom sat back in his chair. 

“You vj2ir\t something^ \\Q ipersxsiQd. “That’s the 
way with a woman. She sends him a big plum-pie on 
a pewter plate, and demands the dish back with his 
head in it, nicely mounted in gold, for her clanking 
chatelaine ! ” 


30 


PATRICIA. 


Honora smiled sweetly into his eyes. 

‘‘ Yes, I have something to ask of you,” she said, 
earnestly, “ and it is something of grave importance ; 
it is something — oh, Tommo ! ” — she caught her breath 
sobbingly — “you cannot, must not, refuse me.” 

Mr. Pell dropped his bantering tone and grew grave. 

“ You may as well tell me at once,” he said, “ what 
this very momentous request may be.” 

Ellen entered with the coffee. 

“Will you have brandy with your coffee, Tom?” 
said Honora, “ and suppose we have it in the drawing 
room — it will be cosier, don’t you think? Take the 
tray in there, Ellen, and bring us some cognac.” 

“ Are we to have coffee in the moonlight ? ” asked 
Tom, holding the bamboo portiere aside for her to pass. 

“ It is possible there may be lights there, now,” 
she answered, smiling. “ Yes, it is quite brilliant, you 
see.” 

She stopped for a moment by the mantel to light 
her cigarette, while Tom walked over to the window 
and looked out into the night. She did not, as usual, 
prettily arrange herself among the gay Madras pillows 
on the divan, but selected, instead, a straight high- 
backed chaiv, where she sat rigidly upright, frowning 
at the arabesques in the rug beneath her feet. 

It was some moments before Tom turned from his 
contemplation of the stars, and she remained silent till 


PATRICIA. 


31 


he chose to come to her. When he drew a chair op- 
posite to hers, and sat down, she raised her eyes to his 
a little timidly. All the fire and spirit seemed gone 
from her. She was so anxious to succeed — so fearful 
of failure ; and it meant so much — so very much^ ' 
whether she lost or won. 

Well ? ” he said, at last. 

“ It is about Patricia,” she said slowly. 

Well ? ” he repeated. 

“ I am not blaming you, Tom ” 

You are very kind,” he interrupted, in a satirical 
tone. 

“ / am to blame for it all. I foresaw everything 
that would happen, — and — I let it happen ! ” 

Tom smiled. Yes ? ” he drawled. “ What a little 
comedy for you ! ” 

“ I supposed it was a comedy, ” she went on, forget- 
ting herself now, and talking very rapidly. “ I did 
not consider the poor little puppet in the play at all. 

I only thought of my revenge upon the man who had 
ruined my whole life. I thought of my little baby, 
who had lived her short existence in exile and isola- 
tion, a baby to be shunned, a child of shame. I re- 
membered the day when Philip forbade me to kiss Pa- 
tricia — told me I was not fit to touch her. ‘ And now,’ 

I said, ‘ Patricia is in my hands ; I can make or mar 
her future; she is young, impressionable, untutored; 


32 


PATRICIA. 


my day has come ! ’ You were interested in her, and 
I knew, if you only became sufficiently fond of her, 
the probable result.” 

I must thank you again. Princess,” he broke in, 
“and compliment you upon your excellent intuition, 
and subtle flattery.” 

“ I knew,” she continued, without noticing his re- 
marks, “ how irresistible you are when you wish to be ; 
that Patricia was ignorant of masculine guile ; that she 
is affectionate, impulsive, amiable. I know that life is 
without its savor to you when you are without an 
affaire^ and I foresaw that Patricia was destined to add 
zest to existence for you.” 

“ Wonderfully discerning woman ! ” said Tom. 

“ But I did not foresee Patricia’s tears. They scald 
my heart, and drown my triumph. I have stabbed 
Philip to the soul. My vengeance for long years of 
misery is amply satisfying. But Patricia ! The poor 
little tool ! The young girl who was my guest, and 
whom 1 sacrificed to my hatred for her father, what 
atonement can be made to her ! when I see her pale 
face and sad eyes, I realize the enormity of my cruelty. 
It is only humanity, my friend, that we should find 
some way — to lighten her burden. It is the heaviest 
burden a woman can bear — too heavy for many — and 
I fear Patricia may soon fade away out of the world, 
for she neither eats nor sleeps.” 


t»ATRiCIA. 


33 


“And your suggestion?” he asked quietly. 

“Tommo,” she said, bending forward, and taking 
his hands in hers, “ I want you to marry her ! ” 

Mr. Pell did not withdraw his hands for a moment, 
he was occupied in getting well braced in his chair. 
His eyes opened to their widest extent, stared amazedly 
at Honora. Slowly he took one hand and then the 
other from hers, and clasped them to his head. 

“ Is my head on straight ? ” he asked, in a very faint 
tone, “ and could you oblige me with some information 
about my name? Am I To;nmy Pell of Loiidonparis- 
androme? I feel sort of shaky somewhere.” 

Honora looked at him with a grieved expression. 

“ I am very much in earnest,” she said. 

“ Has there ever been a commission to inquire into 
your sanity ? Do you feel all right here ? ” tapping 
his forehead. 

“ Tom, dear,” she said, with tears in her eyes, 
“ please do not jest about it.” 

“Jest!” he groaned. “Great Heavens! I see no 
joke in the thing. But for you to go back on me. 
Princess ! Only a very few weeks ago you assured me I 
should not marry Patricia ; and I trusted to your pro- 
tection ! ” 

“That was when I believed you wanted to marry her. 
Now that you don’t — I want you to ! ” smiling faintly. 
“Oh, but no, Tom,” earnestly, “it is all changed 


34 


PATRICIA. 


now; — then, it would have been silly to have married 
her, now, I implore you to do so — for my sake — for 
Patsy’s sake — for your own honor.” 

Tom lighted a fresh cigar. 

“You wish to discuss this proposition in earnest?” 
he asked. 

“ I do,” she answered. 

“You sdiy you are the person particularly to blame, 
in the affair ? ” he continued, smiling. 

“Yes,” she said sadly. 

“But /am to pay the piper?” he questioned, the 
smile broadening. 

“ I ask you to do something I cannot do,” she replied. 

“Yes,” he said, musingly, “ you couldn’t very well 
marry her, I suppose.” 

“ No,” she answered, frowning, — “ but you can.” 

“ Can ! Somehow I don’t seem to see it,” he said, 
flicking the ashes off his cigar. 

“And are you quite blameless?” she demanded 
bitterly. “ Because I shoulder my share of the shame, 
do you request me to bear the whole weight ? Oh, I 
am disappointed in you. I thought you more of a 
man ! ” 

“ I don’t know what could be more of a man than 
throwing the whole blame on a woman,” he said, in 
a hypocritically meek tone. “ Adam did it. Why 
should I set myself up for a better man than Adam ? ” 




55 


Tjnrtmi. I ywL tat be sertbosw*** 

Tjm: Dcr^ sncE paced tire door for i fow' aicmieittSw 
aposrerciy- vooily absorbed ox c%ar; theit he 
aCnnned hiacree KTiwn^ 

(feir Fmice:^’*' he sard g«tcty^ I deeply 
degiore whst has occurred I was certamly a cur^ 
She is a way sweet god and I grew' recy food o£ her* 
M^jsc ^his Star I hare grown: fond o£ have — hx ttme — 
hecoHDe mine^ f t5d not foresee that Patricia wotild 
proceed to grieve h:ecse[f to death — I 
thought I would take her back to Farts wkh me* that 
we would have our Irttle day o£ fody* and that she 
would be happier than down in that country-hole where 
her lot Es cast^ Redly*”* he coattaiied* pulling at his 
moustache, and speakmg in a grieved tone> you'd 
thmk any woman would prefer dweUiBg with tae than 
redding with the Rdvermtd Philip — wouldn't you ? And 
mow that ^e won't see me* or hear from me* or ha\'e 
a word to say to me* I feel very badly — indeed I do ! '*“ 
“ She Loves you*”* said Honora* 

“■ Sie has such peculiar wavs o£ showing it*'^ 

“•And surely when you cared for her so dearly a short* 
week ago* you must care for her >*et*'*“ 

“• Xot so much*”* he answered dectSedly* Wlien a 
grrL turns her back on you* and snubs \'OU right off of 
the bendsphere you don't care for her so much* you 
know.** 


36 


PATRICIA. 


“ Ah, but, Tom, you ought to know women! — her 
humiliation, her contrition, the shame of it all — she 
naturally dreads seeing you.” 

“Then how am I to propose to her? Through the 
key-hole?” he asked impatiently. 

“ No. Through me, at first,” replied Honora, seri- 
ously. “ I will tell her that you love her very dearly, 
and wish to marry her, and that I hope she cares enough 
for you to consent.” 

“ H’m 1 ” said Tom. “You will impress upon her 
that she is conferring a devil of a big favor upon me.” 

“Would you wish me to tell her that are con- 
ferring a favor upon Jier ? ” asked Honora, with re- 
turned spirit. 

“ Oh, no, no indeed,” said Tom meekly. “ Don’t inti- 
mate, even to your own thoughts, that it’s the slightest 
sacrifice to marry a woman I don’t want to marry — let 
alone marrying at all.” 

“ Tom ! ” said Honora, sharply, “ it is not that you 
do not want to marry her that I wish to tell Patricia ; 
it is that you do ! ” 

“ Oh, yes. To be sure. I’m getting things awfully 
twisted. Well, I’m afraid I can’t let you tell her that. 
That would be adding another sin to my record. I 
should be responsible for your telling an awful lie.” 

“Yet you say you are fond of her ” 

“ JVas/' put in Tom, laconically. 


PATRICIA. 


37 


“ You were fond enough of her to meditate taking 
her to Paris with you for an indefinite stay,” she con- 
tinued. “ Why not take her now, simply establishing 
her on a different plane.” 

“ Can’t afford it,” gruffly. ‘‘ Not rich enough. In- 
come all cut up in these hard times. When a fellow’s 
married, it means a lot of things. If you are a grocer’s 
clerk or a head bookkeeper you can get yourself one 
of those little tenement affairs to live in where there 
is no elevator and no hall-man. When you want to 
get in you press a button in the lobby, and some one 
upstairs does the rest. The door flies open very mys- 
teriously and you half expect to see a Jack in-the-box 
pop out at you. Sometimes the door doesn’t open, 
but a voice comes shrieking through a brass hole in 
the wall to ask if you are a tramp, before the latch-lift- 
ing process is performed. If you get in, you grope up 
a dark stairway and find yourself in a little box with a 
tapestry carpet on the floor and geranium pots on the 
window-sills. One servant does all the work of the 
apartment, and ushers you in with her head done up in 
a cooking-cap. It is all very simple if your position 
in the world admits of such a mode of living. But if 
it happens that you are a man of any prominence 
socially, and desire your wife to have a proper calling 
list, you must have a house in an aristocratic neigh- 
borhood, and it must be handsomely furnished ; there 


38 


PATRICIA. 


must be a retinue of servants, good horses and smart 
traps, a box at the opera — and no end of things, in 
short, that I have not the money to buy.” 

“ But, Tom dear, you need not establish yourself for 
a long while. Continue to roam about, here and there, 
wherever you will. Patricia has never been anywhere, 
and it would be a great pleasure to her to travel.” 

“ Yes, and if I wanted to go to Munich, she’d want 
to go to Nice ; if I preferred apartments in the north 
corner of the hotel, she’d want them in the southwest ; 
and apartments where women receive have to be twice 
as large and expensive as bachelor quarters. Oh, I 
know what I’m talking about. I’ve got married friends. 
And I pity ’em, poor devils. It’s no use, Honora, 
can’t do it — not even to oblige you.” 

“You know you are talking quite wildly,” she an- 
swered, gravely. “ Patricia is a very sweet, unselfish 
girl, and would be a lovely wife to you. She is not 
exacting, and you would have your own perverted way 
as much as ever. It might be a trifle more expensive 
than your present mode of living, but I doubt it. You 
seldom travel alone, and you are accustomed to bestow 
toilettes and jewels upon women — I cannot see why it 
should cost a cent more merely because the woman 
happens to be your wife.” 

“You may not see it, but I do, Madame Honora. 
It is not a diamond here and there you give your wife 


PATRICIA. 


39 


— she must have no end of trinkets — and as to gowns, 
a woman in society must have a different gown for 
every function, I am told. It counts up like the old 
Harry, but you don’t want any other fellow’s wife to 
look better groomed than your own.” 

“ So, because you want every penny of your income 
for your own selfish needs, you refuse to save Patricia.” 

“ No,” he said, courteously, “ I do not want every 
penny of my income for myself — you mistake. I will 
be happy to provide for Patricia’s support. I can spare 
her a few thousand a year, and will arrange, when I 
go to New York, to have the money sent you for her, 
at whatever intervals you wish.” 

Honora rose. “ It is of no use to longer prolong this 
discussion,” she said, icily. “ I am to understand that 
you refuse to marry her.” 

Mr. Pell picked up his hat and cane from the table 
where he had laid them. 

“ You have finally traced my meaning,” he said coolly. 

“If you only had one decent, reputable reason ! ”^ie 
exclaimed angrily. 

“ I have,” he said, pausing at the door. 

“ Then what is it ? W/iy won’t you marry her ? ” 

“ Because — I don’t want to,” he said. “ That is all. 
Just that one little, simple, old-fashioned reason — / — 
dont — want — to ! ” 

Then he bowed very low, and was gone. 


40 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ There are inscriptions on our hearts, which can never be seen, ex 
cept at dead low tide.” 

Tom stalked down the street in anything but an ami- 
able mood. This keeping your temper well in hand 
while a beautiful woman expressed unlimited contempt 
for you, was not such a confoundedly easy task. He 
hailed a passing cab, and flinging himself into one 
corner, chewed viciously on an unlighted cigar. 

For all he could see Honora was bordering on par- 
esis ! That spirited, high-strung woman — whatever 
had come over her ! Why, this new role was positively 
inaiidlin ! Had she said to him — “ Tommo, you are 
at once to marry Patsy ! Why ? — why because I say so ! ” 
in her old, audacious way, gad ! but he might have 
done it. But this please-oh-plcase business left him 
a choice and damn’d if he was at the beck and call of 
any whining woman ! 

And he would like to know why a man might not 
live his own life in the way it suited him. If his in- 
come wasn’t enough for himself, how in the name of 
all that was marvellous could he make it enough for 
two? He would be very happy to deny himself a few 
frivolities to make Patricia comfortable, but as to deny- 
ing himself necessities — (and lots of things were neces- 


PATRICIA. 41 

sities to him !) — to make her his wife, why, it was all 
drivelling idiocy ! 

And then, this being married and having the same 
woman your everlasting companion every day of the 
year, finding her in tears when you didn’t come home 
till daylight, and questioning whether you weren’t 
somewhat extravagant in the matter of cigars, if you 
criticised her millinery bill — oh, hang it all ! it wasn’t 
to be 'thought of! Honora might go to the scorching 
below ! 

Meanwhile, Honora was moving listlessly about, 
picking up little knick-knacks to be packed away. She 
was restless and wanted to be stirring. She wished she 
could instantly shake the dust of Chicago from her 
shoes, and board the night train east, but she could 
hardly arrange to leave quite so precipitately. How- 
ever, she could, at least, commence to get things ready 
to box. 

So, she had failed ! and now, what was to be done 
with Patricia. She certainly would not leave the girl 
alone, and her apartment on Faubourg St. Germain 
was hardly the proper place for a young girl to reside. 
The Due Du Val arrived at all hours, accompanied by 
very boisterous companions. She would not care to have 
Patricia at one of those petits sonpers of theirs, which 
began at midnight and often did not end till daylight. 


42 


PATRICIA. 


when risqii^ jests were the order of the hour, and the 
wine-corks flew in showers. 

If she could persuade her to go to school for a year, 
that would be the best ; — simply to perfect herself in 
French, and to study art and music; but after such a 
taste of life as she had had, would it be possible to induce 
her to immure herself in such a very dull institution 
as a French school ! Still, she could suggest it to her ; 
and after that something else could be arranged — 
possibly a marriage ! It was different in France, where 
the dot was of the first importance, and she would be 
willing to sacrifice a great deal to give Patricia a dowry. 
There was the row of houses the Due had presented to 
her in a moment of extraordinary generosity, and she 
had jewels — ah ! beautiful jewels — she would gladly 
sell every last one of them to portion the little 
Patricia. 

Then her thoughts returned, resentfully, to Tom. 
She had always considered him chivalrous to a degree 
— but when it came to the point of causing himself any 
inconvenience he was just like any other man ! Gal- 
lant in little things, but shirking responsibilities to the 
end. He was very, very disappointing. It would 
surely seem as though a man who had drained every 
pleasure in life to the dregs would be willing to spend 
the remainder of his days in a quieter existence ; would 
make the small sacrifice of bestowing his blas^ self upon 


PATRICIA. 


43 


a woman who loved him ; a woman who had made — 
for him — the greatest sacrifice of all. 

It was not suggested that he marry any one old or 
ugly or stupid, but a very pretty girl ; young, charm- 
ing and intelligent. He was not in love with any one 
else, and it was an absurd excuse that his income was 
not sufficient. Ah, well, let it go! If the sacrifice of 
a woman’s honor was a mere bagatelle in his estima- 
tion, undoubtedly he would make the worst of hus- 
bands — she might be able to give Patricia a better fate. 
Whereupon she gave the duster an angry flout, knock- 
ing a Cloissonnd vase on to the hearth with a, clatter. 
What a din ! Her fingers were as clumsy as toes ! 
She guessed she had done enough toward getting her 
goods and chattels into packing order ! 

Then she sat down, with her hands in her lap and 
her head thrown back, and trilled a dainty little ditty 
about how 

“ He came back 
From the town of Hackensack, 

With a little bunch of whiskers on his chin, chin, chin, chin,” 

but somehow the tone was not so merry as she wished 
to make it. 

Then, all at once, up she sprang, and ran across the 
room to her desk. ‘‘ I will not give up,” she said vehe- 
mently, “ He must marry her. It need simply be a 


44 


PATRICIA. 


private marriage by a justice of the peace, and I the 
sole witness ; and then I will take her away with me, 
just the same as though there had been no marriage 
at all. He need never live with her a day. He need 
not even support her ; but there must be some cere- 
mony that will place Patricia honorably in the world, 
and rouse her from this dreadful despondency. Now, 
this request that I am making is a perfectly reason- 
able one. It leaves him as free as a dicky bird, and 
saves dear Patricia from a whole world of woe. If he 
does not consent he is a — a Hottentot ! He deserves 
to be blown to dust with a machine-gun.” 

Mr. Pell was very comfortably seated in his apartment 
at the Richelieu. His slippered feet rested upon a 
table top ; a short brier pipe was between his teeth, 
and he was bored by nothing more tedious than his 
own thoughts. He had been very angry, but, as is a 
way with mankind, once removed from the scene of 
disquietude he was fast regaining his complacency. 
The disturbing element was a tap at the door, followed 
by the entrance of a messenger, bearing a large, square, 
white envelope, upon which Honora’sbold chirography 
was visible some feet away. He frowned, and tore it 
open, — and the frown deepened as he read. There were 
four closely-written pages, so that the reading occupied 
some several moments, especially as a part of it was 


PATRICIA. 45 

decidedly illegible, having been hastily folded before 
the ink had dried. 

Mr. Pell read it twice through before he remembered 
that the messenger waited. Then, turning sharply to the 
boy, he tossed him some silver, and instructed him to 
return to Madame Harjes and tell her there was no reply. 

Again, was Honora’s small salon lighted only by the 
far-off moon. Shadows fell in the little alcove, empty 
now, save for the roses. The baby-face, and the pre- 
cious playthings were all put away in their wrappings, 
ready for the coming journey; the ornaments were 
gone as well, and the room looked bare and chill. 

Everything was still ; without, the whole world 
seemed sleeping. The cable-trains had been replaced 
by tinkling horse-cars that ran few and far between. 

PIonoTa lay on the cushioned window-seat staring 
out into the white night. Her hands were tightly 
clinched, and her eyes blazed with anger. Her last 
ruse had failed. There was nothing more to hope. 
He had refused — insolently refused. He had dared 
send her an ungracious message by a servant ! And 
she had thought him a gentlemayi I A peasant could 
not have been more discourteous. Well — she had 
made many mistakes — this was merely another one 
added to the list. She would do all she could for 
Patsy. The poor child should have a happier life in a 


46 


PATRICIA. 


happier country — where there were good husbands to 
be had — if they were paid for! There were some fine 
little fellows in the army, with pretty red cheeks, and 
curling, jet-black hair, with hardly ever a penny in 
their pockets. Patsy should have one of these, if she 
wished. They were nice little dolls, and one would 
make her far happier than that boor of a Tommy Pell ! 

Then, a ludicrous view of the situation came into her 
mind. The mistress of the Due Du Val selling her 
jewels for the money wherewith to buy a husband for 
the daughter of the man who had driven her to ruin ! 
She began to laugh, under her breath at first and then 
aloud. O, what a tableau it was I And her hysterical 
laughter rang out into the quiet night. 

At the farther end of the corridor a door opened, 
and a slight little figure, robed in white, with wide- 
opened, wondering eyes, crept down the hall and con- 
fronted her. 

“ O, Patricia! ” she cried, “ do forgive me ! Tm very 
sorry to have waked you. I quite forgot I was not 
alone. I am nervous, I guess — and tired." 

The laughter ceased. Tears gathered in her eyes and 
fell upon her clasped hands. 

I — I really believe — I — I am going to cry" she 
sobbed. 

Then Patricia came to her, and wiped away her 
tears, and caressed and comforted her. 


PATRICIA. 


47 


CHAPTER V. 


“ Man is a bundle of contradictions, tied together with a string of 
fancies.” 

Persian Proverb. 

When Honora’s breakfast tray arrived the following 
morning she had barely time to notice the service for 
two, when Patricia timidly knocked and entered. She 
had thrown a white crepe morning robe over her night- 
dress, tied a pale blue surah sash about her waist, and 
thrust her bare feet into blue-and-gold Turkish sandals. 
Her hair was primly brushed down over her ears, and 
hung, unbraided, over her shoulders. 

“You picturesque little creature!” exclaimed Ho- 
nora. “ If I were an artist I should sketch you. Come 
in, dear.” 

“ May I have breakfast with you?” asked Patricia. 

“ May you 1 ” said Honora, reaching out her hand till 
she could grasp Patricia’s, and drawing the girl nearer 
to her, till she could put up her face for a kiss, “ May 
I have your society, rather ! I am very glad you ha#/e 
come.” 

Ellen smiled contentedly as she poured the coffee. 
She had been much disturbed over the very evident 


PATRICIA. 


48 

breach between her good mistress and pretty ‘‘ Miss 
Patsy,” and rejoiced at Patricia’s return to old customs. 
She poured the coffee and served the omelette, smiling 
quite impartially upon them both. 

‘‘ Madame,” began Patricia. 

“No,— ril not have it. You promised long ago to 
say Honora,” interrupted Miss Herrick. 

“ Ho — nora,” essayed Patricia, shyly, “ I — I am going 
away.” 

“Yes, dear. I hope to goodness we’ll get away to- 
morrow. I’ve had enough of Chicago to last me for- 
ever and a day.” 

“But — but, you know, I am not going with you,” 
uttered Patricia, with difficulty. 

“ Indeed, I know nothing of the kind. I know that 
you are going with me to New York, where we will see 
all the shows we can crowd into three days, and then 
we will sail away to a good country flowing with milk 
and honey and happy days.” 

“ No,” said Patricia, shaking her head seriously, “ I 
am not going to be a burden and a bother to you. I 
have been thinking it all out. I am going to San 
Francisco — which is sufficiently far from every one I 
know — and advertise for a position as companion.” 

Honora looked at her pityingly. It was several 
moments before she spoke. 

“Yes?” she said, at last. 


“ What qualifications 


PATRICIA. 

have you for such a position ? 
sing ? ” 

‘‘ No,” said Patricia, sadly. 

“ Do you speak P'rench or German ? ” : J 

“No,” said Patricia, “not well. I speak a little -c'’ 

French, you know.” G 

“ Can you sew ? ” . 'J 

“ No, not at all. But these things are not necessary, / ^ 

are they ? ” ' - 

“ Well, as a companion, one must be either useful or 
amusing. You do not know typewriting or stenog- . ' 
raphy?” ^ - ^ 

“ No,” in a despairing tone. . 

“ Then, I can only see one qualification that you 
possess to recommend you as a companion — you ex- 
ecute very prettily a Spanish skirt dance — and you 
might find some gay old lady who would pay you a 
salary for this diversion!” .v,| 

“ I did not know it was necessary one should know >3 
any special thing to be a companion — I thought you " 
just went about with some one — and kept them from 
being lonesome 1 ” " , 

“ I fear there are very few positions of that kind.” ; ' -J 

“ But there are people who do not care for music, . 
and speak nothing but English, who sometimes engage . '‘I 
a companion.” . |l 

“ They would want you to manage the household,” ' - 







49. 


Do you play and ^ 



50 


PATRICIA. 


“ I could do that,'' said Patricia eagerly. “ I always 
attended to the housekeeping at home — and I could 
write letters and — and read aloud.’* 

“Your housekeeping at home was on a very small 
scale, dear.” 

“ But I could learn,” protested Patricia. 

“ And do you think some one would pay you a salary 
while you were learning?” 

“ Perhaps not,” meekly. 

“ Again, references are occasionally required ! ” 
“Oh!” 

“ And a young girl of your age with no family and no 
friends to refer to (I understand you wish to cut loose 
from every one you know?) may possibly be looked 
upon with suspicion ! ” 

“Oh! ” 

“Then, when you find yourself all alone among 
strangers, the employment you seek nowhere in 
sight, your dollars melting into pennies, do you realize, 
Patsy, how helpless and forlorn you will be ? ” 

“ Yes,” plaintively. 

^‘Well, now let me tell you what I think would be 
better. I am sincere in saying that I am very fond of 
you, and I hope you will be fond of me, dear. I will be 
your very truest friend. I want you to feel that you can 
always come to me in any trouble and know that I will 
stop at nothing to help you. I have been thinking 


PATRICIA. 


51 


how best to help you, now. If you wish to be independ- 
ent, the best service I can render you is to put you 
where you can be taught to help yourself. In the sub- 
urbs of Paris, and further south, are some most excel- 
lent schools. You are young yet, only eighteen, and a 
year — or two — as you felt disposed, at one of these 
academies, would probably fit you to take some inde- 
pendent place in the world. You could take special 
studies — languages and art, or music, — whatever suited 
you — and I would see that you were made comfortable.’* 

“ I have no money,” said Patricia, listlessly. 

“You shall have,” said Honora, “ all that you need.” 

“ No ; I will not let you deprive yourself of things 
to help me.” 

Honora sighed wearily. 

“ I wish to tell you quite frankly what my life is,’* 
she said, in a low tone. “ I do not want you to decide 
about this until you know the whole situation. My 
expenses are paid by the Due Du Val. ” She looked 
up at Patricia. 

“ And — mine ? ” she asked breathlessly. 

“ said Honora — “ you would in no way come in 
contact with him, not even through so remote an act 
as my using money of his to defray your expenses. 
When my father died, I came into sufficient property 
to very comfortably support me. One half of this 1 
will make over to you, if you decide to accompany me 


52 


PATRICIA. 


to Europe — the other half shall go to you at my death. 
I could spare you the whole property now ; but — I 
hardly know how to explain. Perhaps you can under- 
stand, that I do not like to be left wholly dependent 
upon the Due. My quarterly remittances from my 
father’s estate, give me a peculiar pleasure. I antici- 
pate them. When I see that long yellow envelope with 
the little crabbed handwriting upon it of my father’s 
executor, I feel a childish delight that I can hardly ex- 
plain. I take the little check and go out and buy 
some special thing that I have set my heart upon — - 
perhaps that I have been planning, for weeks, to get 
with this money, and I cannot begin to tell you what a 
beautiful thing this purchase seems to me ! The Due 
may have handed me a check four times the size, that 
very morning, or brought me some jewel I have been 
coveting — but these are a mere matter of course, and 
seldom arouse my enthusiasm. You see — if I gave it 
all to you — I should miss it so vittch I ” 

Dear Honora,” said Patricia, “you shall not give 
me a penny of it ; and I wish — please forgive me — 
but I wish you would not take the Due’s money, but 
just live upon your own income — then you will be so 
much happier ! ” 

A faint little smile crept over Honora’s face. 

“No; I should be miserable, to have only enough for 
the comforts of life, I am too accustomed to the 


PATRICIA. 


53 


luxuries. This camping in Chicago in a tiny apart- 
ment with only one maid, suited me for this brief 
period," but I should be wretched enough to live like 
this in Paris. No, I am quite willing that the Due 
should attend to my accounts — it is only right. If I 
am all to him that his wife would be, why should he 
live in luxury and neglect to provide for me? I, also, 
have an appetite ; and while I am beautiful, as a 
living picture (I am told), yet, in civilized countries, 
something more of a costume is required. It would be 
a very queer thing for him to profess to adore me and 
neglect to do all he could to make life agreeable for 
me. I do everything in my power to make him 
happy : — I receive his friends, nurse him when he is 
ill, am patient with his vagaries, permit him to dictate 
what course I shall pursue in all matters, and am 
always at home to him. I am far more devoted to him 
than most wives are to their husbands, so that I feel 
quite justified in accepting a small share of his fortune. 
Even then, I consider he is in my debt, for I give 
him a devotion that could not be bought — nor ever 
paid for." 

“ Yet you arc not happy ! ” murmured Patricia. 

Who is?" said Honora, dreamily. “No! I am 
miserable. Luxury cannot palliate. There is always 
rankling in one’s inmost soul the fact that one is weak 
and wicked. You go upon the street, and women 


54 


PATRICIA. 


cross over the way, who know your story, rather than 
pass you by. It may be that these very women have 
sold themselves for wealth, when they married, or are 
guilty of infidelities to kind and trusting husbands, — 
women who would stoop to petty disloyalties which I 
should abhor ; but they cross the way, rather than 
breathe the same atmosphere with a person of my dis- 
reputable character ! And it hurts, you know, it 
wounds ; it takes many years to steel one’s self to 
ignore slights. And when you see some woman driv- 
ing by, with her husband and her babies, and see 
purity stamped all over her happy face, how you e7ivy 
her ! How you would fling wealth to the winds for a 
tiny tenement and virtue ! While my baby lived, I 
did no wrong. When she was gone — what did any- 
thing matter ! And I was so desperately lonely. The 
devil has no weapon stronger. I wanted some one to 
say a kind word to me, and I wanted to be caressed, 
and caress. We women with a heart — God help us ! — 
must love and fondle something. It may be a pet 
animal, or a child, but what presents itself more often 
is a specimen of mankind. The Marquis de Morney 
applied for my affection, and I gave him the limited 
quantity I had to bestow. 

“ I will not distress you with the details of those years, 
dear. I went the pace to stifle the hurt in my heart, 
but the wound would never heal. At last I met the 


PATRICIA. 55 

Due. He fell in love with me, offered me the world 
for a bauble, if I would accept his companionship as 
well. I was not so extravagant as to ask the entire 
earth, however, as a price for myself. I was much 
more moderate in my demands. A necklace of pigeon- 
blood rubies was the sole wish of my heart, I declared. 
On the following day, they were mine — and I was 
his ! 

“ I am telling you, dear, my exact position in the 
world, for I do not want to deceive you in the least. 
If you decide to accompany me, I want you to know 
just what manner of woman you are trusting with your 
future. I have been very wicked to you in the past, • 
but I want to be very good to you now. I should 
never take you to my home, you will understand, and 
should seldom see you ; but I would leave you at the 
best academy I could find, and try to do everything 
that was best for you. Now, dear, if you will think it 
all over, you can let me know, by and by, what decision 
you have come to.” 

Patricia sprang up and came to Honora, stooping 
over the pillows where she lay, and pressing impetuous 
kisses upon her face, somewhat regardless of where 
they fell, for she was blinded with tears. 

“ I have decided,” she said. “ I will go with you. I 
will do anything you ask. I believe you are good, 
whatever you say of yourself. You have a good heart. 


56 


PATRICIA. 


You are kind. I love you, and I will trust you. 
Please take me with you.” 

A tap at the door disturbed them. Patricia went to 
the window to hide her tears, as Ellen brought a letter 
to her mistress. 

Honora’s face brightened as she read. 

“ I beg you will accept my apology for my very 
rude reply to you last evening,” Tom had written. 
‘ I can offer no excuse — but will trust to your 
generosity to invent one for me. My departure is 
postponed until to-morrow. May I call on you a little 
later in the day? I have something to say to Miss 
Allan. “Yours, 

“ T. Pell.” 

Honora glanced over at Patricia, but she was ap- 
parently much occupied with events out of doors. 

“ You may tell the messenger,” she instructed Ellen, 
“ to say to Mr. Pell, that we will be at home between 
three and five.” 


PATRICIA. 


57 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ Are you sure that everything in a woman lies, when her tongue 
does?” — D e Musset. 

Just why Mr. Pell had so suddenly pirouetted from 
his selected perch, he, himself, would have been at a 
loss to explain. He certainly never had intended to 
marry — had never considered himself ordained to be 
the father of a family ! It had suited him to rove about 
the earth, and his conception of the duties of a hus- 
band were not compatible with several of his inclina- 
tions. One should certainly not keep a woman for- 
ever roaming over the country, with no settled abiding 
place. She would naturally a home — and if there 

were children it would hardly be wise to keep them 
constantly en tour ; although they could be put away 
at school after a certain age, he supposed. However, 
there were necessarily a few years before that day 
would arrive. Meanwhile much thought must be ex- 
pended upon their training. Then, a man should be 
an example to his sons. Plenty of old chaps weren’t 
very worthy examples, to be sure, but, he thought 
that, personally, he should prefer to be respected by 


58 


PATRICIA. 


his offspring; and he had never yet seen the day that 
he was quite ready to set up in the example business ! 
Perhaps, beyond all this, the class of women he had 
known the most intimately were seldom selected by 
the men of his accyuaintance for wives and mothers. 

He had avoided society. The women of his own 
world bored him. The debutante was either shy or 
pert. If he paid her any particular attention, her 
mamma was debating what his intentions were, and 
discussing with other mammas his desirability as a 
parti. Some of the married women were gay enough 
— rather too gay, he thought. He had some old- 
fashioned notions about a married woman flirting. It 
disgusted and repelled him. He preferred the open 
profligacy of Hortense and Natalie — women of the 
half-world, who pretended to be nothing better, aspired 
to be nothing more. When he saw a woman with the 
blood of a long line of noble ancestors coursing through 
her veins, stoop to deceive, it angered him. When a 
woman, beautiful, gracious, cultured, the pride of race 
stamped upon her fair face, descended, in secret, to the 
level of a courtesan, his contempt knew no bounds. 

So he swept the women of society into three classes. 
The Stupid Good, The Perfidious Gay, and the Order 
of Ancients and Honorables ; and, having thus ticketed 
them to his own satisfaction, he departed on his rollick-, 
ing way to the haunts of the Other Half who were not so 


PATRICIA. 


59 


easily classified. To marrj/ one of these^ however, could 
never have occurred to his well-regulated mind. He 
was a Pell — which leaves no more to be said. The Pell 
women doubtless would have been relegated, by their 
relative, to the Stupid Good division, but no reflection 
had ever been made upon their chastity, and their 
descendant, Thomas, would not have considered for a 
moment the bestowal of an honorable name upon a 
woman of less fair fame. 

And now — here was Honora with a multitude of 
schemes for his marrying ! Not content with his 
decided refusal, here she was with a letter which simply 
beat the devil about the stump. “ Simply a ceremony ! ” 
— Bah ! Did it not tie him, just the same, whether he 
lived with his wife or didn’t ! And Ho7iora would 
support her — it 7teed be no care to hhn ! God ! how 
coarse she could be! Would he marry a woman, did 
she think, and then consign her to some other person 
to support ! He read the letter again and again, and 
the oftener he read it the angrier he grew, till he tossed 
it into his desk, in a rage, and went to bed. 

But bed did not, necessarily, mean sleep ; and when 
sleep came, at last, there were dreams. There was a 
vision of himself helping a toddling tot down the 
veranda steps. It clung, trustingly, to his big thumb, 
with its ridiculous little fingers, and laughed, gayly, as 
he tossed it into its perambulator. Then a white- 


6o 


PATRICIA. 


capped nurse wheeled it away down the gravelled 
walk, and he was alone. 

Again, he was at the head of a long table, with a line 
of little faces at either side, and a sweet-faced woman 
at the farther end. He was carving a joint with great 
dignity and dexterity, and inquiring of the matron who 
faced him, how she had passed the day. 

He awoke in the morning with a bad liver. When 
a man’s liver is bad, his hankering for the flesh-pots of 
Egypt cannot be called extreme. Wine, women, and 
song he readily forswears. The Feast of Lucullus 
would not tempt him. He breakfasted upon salt 
mackerel, toast and tea, which can hardly be said to 
have enlivened him. Life took on a serious aspect. 
He recalled his dreams. After all, it might be a very 
sensible thing to marry — it was only this having a 
woman poked under your nose so that was distasteful. 
It might not be a bad thing to have a home and a 
family. It certainly was growing tame forever knocking 
about, with no one near who really belonged to one. 
When a man grew old and gouty, pretty girls did not 
flock about one, and now one could have something of 
a choice. However, he had better be in no hurry about 
it ; undoubtedly if he had a home he was expected at 
with any regularity, he never would get there at all ! 
To do those things he ought to do had never been one 
of his traits. He liked to flap his wings and fly Avhither 


PATRICIA. 


6 


the whim took him. No matter how light the chain 
might be, he felt convinced it would weigh upon him. 
He loved women — they were the very breath of life — 
but to be tied to one, however sweet, would, in time, 
he felt convinced, grow irksome. 

And then he read Honora’s note again, and on this 
occasion read it more calmly. What a rude reply he 
had sent her — he would go out and apologize, by and 
by — or, perhaps he had better write her — she had some- 
thing of a temper had Miss Herrick — and she might 
refuse to receive him. 

After all, that was rather a clever scheme of hers — a 
marriage without any responsibilities — why wasn’t it, 
perhaps, the very thing for him ! He recognized that, 
with his temperament, a conventional marriage, with 
all its attendant monotony, would undoubtedly be a 
great bore, which would be somewhat unkind to the 
woman who did him the honor to become Mrs. Pell. 
But here was Patricia who was willing to be his wife, live 
apart from him and wait till he was ready to provide 
a home. He would go his way, and she hers, until 
such time as he saw fit to settle down in conventional 
fashion. She would not draw a tight rein upon him 
at any time, for she would appreciate the superfluous 
courtesy of his marrying her ! She was pretty, bright 
and pliable ; he would have her educated to suit his 
own tastes ; if she had any sort of a voice she should 


62 


PATRICIA. 


go to Marchesi. With five years abroad, she would 
make a charming companion, and he would then be 
ready, no doubt, to welcome her home. 

Again, this marrying was the one situation in life in 
which he had not yet found himself. It would be a new 
phase of existence. How the boys would laugh ! It 
would cost him just a few cases of Rmnart when the 
cards came out ! The comedy of Tommy Pell strut- 
ting from the Boulevards of the Unholy to dwell in the 
By-ways of the Well-Conducted ! They would send 
him a brass medal and a copy of “ How to be Happy, 
though Married ! ” However, according to Honora’s 
arrangements, that day was long distant. A wedding 
with no cards or cake or flummery — it was certainly a 
very dream of simplicity ! 

Gad ! if he wouldn’t do it ! He would write Honora 
at once. It would make her happy, poor old girl; 
Patricia would dry her eyes and stop her snivelling, 
and so far as he could see he was not to know he had 
a wife till he felt desirous of her society; beyond the 
allowance he had already intended to make Patricia, it 
would not be a bit of bother to him — and, on the con- 
trary, he would rather like the knowledge that some- 
where in the world was a woman ready to come 
to him at an instant’s notice, should he be ill — or 
dying. 

So he wrpte to Honora, and despatched the messep- 


PATRICIA. 63 

ger with all haste, before he should have time to re- 
consider — or repent. 

When the messenger brought him Honora’s reply 
he found him “ bracing ” at the bar. His liver felt 
better. In fact he felt so very much pleased with him- 
self that he quite forgot he ever had a liver. He had 
been patting himself on the back for an hour past. 
“ Good boy ! ” he said to himself. “ Betrayed the trust 
— sweet young girl. Girl weeps. Thinks marriage due. 
Friend implores him marry girl. Marry sweet young 
lady ? Certainly. Of course he’ll marry her. No 
great pleasure in being run into the noose of matri- 
mony in such a great gait — but Tommy Pell may be 
always depended upon to do the square thing. Yes, 
yes — he’d marry her ! — have little children — settle down 
like any old bump on a log — and surprise the na- 
tion ! ” 

Having sufficiently braced himself, he proceeded to 
dress himself with unusual care. Half a dozen ties 
were flung on the floor before he found one to please 
him, and he was equally hard to suit as to shoes. 
When he was finally attired to his satisfaction, he 
sauntered down the street to the florist’s, where he in- 
vested in roses for Patricia, and adorned the lapel of 
his coat with a very lovely gardenia. 

Meanwhile Honora had indifferently announced that 
Mr. Pell was coming to tell them good-bye. I 


64 


PATRICIA. 


think it will be best for you to see him, Patsy, — ^just 
for a few moments — I will come for you when he 
arrives.” 

“ Oh, no — I can't see him ! ” exclaimed Patricia, in 
alarm. 

“ You will ; because I ask it. You have promised 
to do whatever I ask, you know.” 

“ But you will excuse me from this? ** 

“No, I want you to come in, dear, just as though ^ 
we could blot out the past month, and were all good 
friends again. Only the first moment will be hard, 
and I shall be doing most of the talking.” 

However, when Tom arrived, Patricia was not dressed, 
and Mr. Pell thought it rather a chilly reception. Not 
that he had expected them to be on the doorsteps 
watching for him, or hanging over the banister rail, 
but he had expected they would be ready to receive 
him. 

He took the roses from their wrapping and occupied 
himself in plucking them to pieces, and scattering the 
petals on the floor. “ Rose-leaves for my lady to tread 
on,” he murmured cynically. “Tommy, me lad, it’s 
my own opinion that you are nervous ; you are not 
much in the proposal line. Undoubtedly you’ll make a 
mess of it ! ” 

He lighted a fresh cigar and twirled his moustache 
into twine. 


PATRICIA. 65 

“ Coming, Tommo,” called Honora ; “ don’t despair. 
How are you to-day ? ” 

“ Able to be up and doing, with a heart for any fate,” 
he replied cheerily. 

Honora rustled down the corridor to Patricia’s door. 

“ Come,” she said. 

Patricia slowly tied a ribbon about her throat. 

“ Must I ? ” she begged. 

“ Come,” repeated Honora. 

“ Did he ask for me ? ” Patsy persisted. 

“ Yes.” 

With lagging feet she came to Honora, and they 
went together down the hall. Her knees smote each 
other as she passed over the threshold. She heard 
Honora and Tom chatting gayly, and they seemed to 
her a long way off, and then she realized that Tom 
was talking to her. “You — expected me?” he was 
saying. 

“ I ? Why — er — no ! ” she answered, confusedly. 

“ Honora has told you of my wishes — my hopes?" 
he asked. 

Something in his tone startled her. She looked 
around for Honora to find her chair empty and her- 
self and Tom alone in the room. 

“ No — she has not told me — I will go and ask her,” 
she said, rising, hastily. 

But Tom rose also. 

5 


66 


PATRICIA. 


“/ will tell you,” he said, layin-g a detaining hand 
upon her arm. “ Don’t go. I have something to say 
to you,” and then, abruptly, “ Will you be my wife? ” 
She looked up into his eyes, as though fascinated — 
her own dilating with wonder, as she heard. “ I am 
very much in earnest,” he added. 

The words were uttered very gently ; the words were 
sweet ; but where was the fire, the ardor, the impetu- 
osity of his former wooing? The “/ love you ” that 
had caused her young heart to thrill with joy ! the 
tender, passionate kisses that had warmed her very 
soul ! Was this man with the kind, calm voice, that 
eager lover ? 

So ! He would marry her for pity ! 

Then she flung her head high, and pushed him 
violently from her. 

Marry you!'' she cried, with flashing eyes. 
“ Marry you, to be patronized and pitied and toler- 
ated^ never ! How dare you ask me such a thing ! 1 

hate you — hate you — always remember that — that there 
is no one in the whole world that I so loathe — and 
despise — and detest as I do you ! ” 

When Mr. Pell had sufflciently recovered his equa- 
nimity to place his hat upon his head, and grasp his 
stick within his hand, he stayed not upon the order of 
his going. 

Patricia had rushed wildly from the room at the con- 


PATRICIA. 67 

elusion of her mild burst of oratory, and he waited not 
to make his adieux to Honora. 

Well ! the next time he permitted a woman to 
advise him as to his course in life, he would damn 
well know it ! Meantime his cabby could do a little 
tall hustling to enable him to reach the hotel in time 
to have his traps put aboard the afternoon express 
east. With which conclusion he hurried down the 
stairs, leaped into his brougham and was rapidly 
whirled away. 


68 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER VIL 

“ Nothing is more simple than living. Nothing more complicated 
than life.” — Macaulay. 

Honora having inspected the boxes in the kitchen, 
read, and re-read the addresses tacked thereon, and re- 
peated to Ellen directions she had already explicitly 
given her, decided, at last, that she had lingered long 
enough for Mr. Pell to have had ample time to 
propose to Patricia a dozen times, and to have made 
several sweet speeches since his acceptance. 

So, humming a little song, and with much rustling 
of petticoats, she swept down the hall to the parlor. 
■Empty ! neither Patsy nor Tommo were anywhere at 
all about ! 

She stood still for a moment, quite bewildered. 
“Patsy!” she called. No answer. She walked to 
the window and looked out. The brougham in which 
Mr. Pell had arrived was just whirling about the 
corner at a rattling speed. “Well!” she ejaculated, 
after homely expression she hurried down the corridor 
to Patricia’s door. 

Patsy was standing against the dressing-table, her 


PATRICIA. 


69 

hands behind her, tightly clinching the table top, 
when Honora walked calmly in, without the ceremony 
of knocking. Two little pink spots glowed in Patricia’s 
cheeks, deepening the dark shadows beneath the deep 
blue eyes. 

Honora looked at her curiously. I cannot under- 
stand ! ” she said. “ Why did Mr. Pell go so sud- 
denly ? Is he coming back? ” 

“ You knew!' said Patricia, in a tense tone, “ what 
Mr. Pell intended to say to me to-day ? ” 

Honora nodded. “ I — suspected.” 

And you took me in there to give him an opportu- 
nity to insult me ? ” 

Honora looked yet more surprised. “ There must 
be some mistake. You must have misunderstood. 
Mr. Pell intimated to me that he desired to marry 
you. 

Patricia’s lip curled. You told me once that that 
was an insult — that Mr. Pell had been too bad a man 
to ask any one to marry him.” 

“ To ask a pure woman, I think I said,” said Honora 
cruelly. 

“ Ah ! And now the circumstances are altered. 
Now, it is a kindness on the part of Mr. Pell to offer 
himself to me. Well, I refused to permit him to make 
the sacrifice.” 

You refused him ! ” exclaimed Honora, dismayed. 


70 


PATRICIA. 


Why had it never occurred to her to sound Patricia 
on the subject ! Why had she not remembered that 
Patricia was possibly too ignorant to know that it was 
the only possible salvation for her. Why, oh why 
had she been such a fool ! How furious Tom must 
be, to be sure ! Doubtless he thought that she knew 
all the time what Patricia’s answer would be — had 
plotted to humiliate him. She dropped into a chair 
with a sigh of despair. 

“ O, Patsy ! ” she said, “ how unfortunate ! What 
2, great mistake you have made ! ” 

“ A mistake ! ” said Patricia angrily. “ A mistake ! 
Is it then a stupidity to refuse to become a merely 
tolerated wife ? To accept a man for my husband who 
feels he condescends to marry me ? Should I drop on 
my knees, and say ‘ Thank you kindly, sir ? ’ Oh ! ” the 
angry tears rolling down her face “ how abominable 
for him to think he had only to beckon to me, and 
that I would run into his arms ! ” 

“ How do you know he thought all these things ? ” 
asked Honora. “ Could you tell me what he said?” 

“ He said — why, he said^' said Patricia reflecting, 
“that would I be his wife, and that he was very much 
in earnest.” 

“ I fail to discover in those words any of the senti- 
ments you attribute to him. There must have been 
something more ” 


PATRICIA. 


71 


“ No — that was all. It wasn’t the words,'' she went 
on, impatiently, “ the words were nice enough, it was 
his manner, the way he said them — he was sure I 
would accept him for one thing ! ” 

“ I suppose a man seldom asks a woman to marry 
him for the mere sake of being refused. He usually 
waits till he thinks she cares for him — and — you had 
given him some proof,” said Honora harshly. 

“ Don't ! " cried Patricia sharply. 

But Honora was angry herself, now, and not in- 
clined to be kind. 

“ You had given him every reason to suppose you 
loved him very dearly,” she continued. ‘‘ If I remem- 
ber correctly, you had told him something of the sort. 
Unfortunately for him, he believed in your sincerity 
and comes here to offer you an honorable position as 
his wife. His manner may have unconsciously be- 
trayed that he considers he has sinned against you, 
but he offers, in the only possible way, to make amends. 
And perhaps you forget, Patricia, that he is the only 
man in the world you ca7t marry — with any honor — 
now." 

Patricia was very quiet. 

“ I do not wish to marry any one,” she said dog- 
gedly, and I won't marry him. I hate him ! And I 
told him so ! ” 

“ That was very charming of you ! ” 


72 


PATRICIA. 


“ No man shall stoop to marry me,” she went on. 
“ It is just as you say, he asked me, ‘ to make amends.' 
I have been weak and wrong enough, I full well know, 
but let it end where it is. It is no use going on and 
making things worse. The farther I am away from 
him, the better for me. I decline to be shackled to 
him. I have never envied Francesca — and I suffer 
sufficiently without Mr. Pell in the audience.” 

“ O Patsy ! ” said Honora, sorrowfully, “ you are so 
wrong. If Tom has asked you to marry him, you may 
be sure he loves you. He will not patronize nor pity 
you. I am very sure he would be kind to you, and do 
all in his power to make you happy ; and kindness^ 
dear, is so much in this selfish world, where the general 
motto is ‘ Every one for himself and the devil take the 
hindmost.’ When you have grown a little older, and 
some one turns aside from his own pleasant pathway 
and offers to bear your burden with you, you will have 
learned better than to dissect his motives, or fling 
him from you with scorn. You will welcome a friend, 
and take his hand, gladly. It may be only a little way 
he will go with you, but that short way will b • 
brighter than if plodded alone. One’s situation in 
life, and surroundings, make all the difference in this 
world. It is a mistake to have the whims of a queen, 
when one is merely a speck of the populace. If one 
had the choice of the universe for one’s companions in 


PATRICIA. 


73 


life, it would be well to toss aside aspiring ninnies ; 
but if one must select from the ninnies, I should say 
take one who displays a good heart ! 

“ Patsy, if you were all alone on the great desert of 
Sahara, if your camel was an amiable beast, you had 
plenty of provisions to last you to your journey’s end, 
and your guides were trusty fellows who knew the 
route well, and would bring you safely to your desti- 
nation, so that you really needed nothing further, and 
there should happen along a gentlemanly fellow, who 
asked you, with all courtesy and respect, to let him 
travel beside you, saying it might be less dull together, 
and you could beguile one another with cheerful talk, 
do you fancy you would haughtily bid him go his way ? 
That you would criticise his speech and manner ? Or 
do you know that you would welcome his coming and 
find the way less drear because of his companion- 
ship ? ” 

“ I do not see the parallel,” said Patricia. 

“No? I am going to show it to you. I am going to 
be very cruel to you, Patsy, but I wound you for your 
good, I think. You are like the traveller in the desert. 
There are trusty servants near you, and no lack of 
material comfort, but you are isolated from the great 
world. As a young girl, living away from her relatives, 
with whispered innuendoes afloat, you will find yourself 
in a sad situation. You must submit to many mortifi- 


74 


PATRICIA. 


cations, and swallow many an insult. But a friend 
comes and tells you that beside him you may return 
happily into the world ; assures you that he will be 
your sponsor, your defender, your very true friend. 
Then, is it best to spurn such an offer? Isn’t it a bit 
of a mistake to doubt him and flout him and stand 
aloof? To prefer a retreat when the wide world is 
offered you ? Is it the best sentiment to choose igno- 
miny when an honorable station may be yours ?” 

“ Oh, Honora ! ” gasped Patricia, “ I had never 
thought of it in that way. I may be wrong. Perhaps 
I searched for something patronizing in Tom’s tone. 
I so despise myself, I fancy every one is looking for an 
opportunity to affront me. You see, when he asked 
me to be his wife, as though he were making a speech, 
not as though it were his heart’s desire, it hurt me, 
and I grew very angry, and I fear I was very rude. I 
am sorry now. He will never forgive me, I am sure ! ” 
“ Patsy, tell me, do you love him ? ” 

“ Love hhn ! ” she exclaimed in tense tones, “ Yes ! ” 
“ More than any one in the world ? ” 

“ More than any one who ever lived.” 

“ I wish, then, that you had parted better friends,” 
sighed Honora, as she left the room — leaving Patricia 
to sob her little heart out, and lament the calamity of 
living. 

The following day witnessed their departure from 


PATRICIA. 


75 


Chicago. Ellen stood on the platform, waving a red 
and blue bandana in farewell. “ May the Virgin 
make yor bid in Hivin, Miss Patsy,” was her fervent 
farewell. “ And may ivery hair in yor hid torn into a 
candell ter light yor tev £-lorry” was her effusive ben- 
ediction to Honora. Then the long train creaked and 
groaned, preparatory to starting on its way, and slowly 
puffed out of the station, leaving the faithful hand- 
maiden, waving her bandana on high — a forlorn and 
fantastic figure on the platform. 


76 


PATRICIA, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“We are what we must, 

And not what we would. I know that one hour 
Forestalls not another. The will and the power 
Are diverse.” Owen Meredith. 

Mr. Pell’s cabby, although he drove with all possible 
speed, did not succeed in depositing his fare at the 
Hotel Richelieu till just too late for him to gather his 
belongings together and make the afternoon express 
east. 

Whereupon he alighted, in much wrath, and ex- 
pressed himself in language we will fail to record, 
then descended to a place below-stairs, where they 
even labor to assuage the thirst of mankind. 

The concoction set before him seemed to cool both 
his throat and his temper. He wrote half-a-dozen 
telegrams, a letter or two, clicked his heels in the 
office-window, while he smoked a very comforting 
cigar, and by this time had quite recovered his ur- 
banity. His anger against Honora and indignation 
with Patricia melted away. He even found it in his 
heart to pity the poor little Patricia for not knowing 


PATRICIA. 


n 


a good thing when it was offered her! He began to 
smile at the absurdity of the situation. The first time 
he had ever asked a woman to marry him, in all his 
life, he was scornfully refused ! Refused by the penni- 
less daughter of a country clergyman who had more 
beauty than brains — or virtue 1 Now what under the 
canopy had he been so murdering mad about! Au 
contraire, he should be mighty well pleased. It let 
him out very neatly. He had offered the amende 
honorable^ and his offer was spurned. He had done all 
that a gentleman could do. His conscience was now 
as clear as crystal — and he hadnt got the girl ! Still, 
that tone of hers would rankle in his memory. Why 
the deuce should she hate him so ! It wasn’t fair ! — 
By Jove! he admired her spirit, though ; and he never 
knew how very pretty she was till she stood there in 
her blazing anger delivering such a tirade. She had 
always been such a quiet little puss, gentle to a de- 
gree. He did not dream she was capable of getting in 
such a tempest. 

Well, he was certainly very lucky to escape so 
smoothly. A wife with such a temper would be a per- 
fect shrew ! In a wife one wanted docility, dignity 
and repose. 

“ So we are off, at last,” sighed Honora, with content, 
as the Limited steamed out of the station, “ and I don’t 


73 


PATRICIA. 


believe we’ve left a single thing behind. Why ! what 
work it is to get all one’s possessions together, and how 
little things do accumulate ! I thought I could get 
ready in an hour, and it certainly took ten ! Nothing 
ever was so beautiful as that Fair — nor so dingy 
as the city of Chicago ! Is there any smut on my 
nose ? 

“You surely don’t mean to lay the soot from the 
engine to the Chicago chimneys, do you ? ” laughed 
Patricia. 

“ Why not ?” demanded Honora. “ They loaded up 
the engine in Chicago with their horrid, old soft coal, 
didn’t they ? If I’m all smut, it isn’t the engine’s fault, 
it’s Chicago’s,” 

“ Well, so far you’re looking quite like a white 
lady,” smiled Patsy. “ Did you bring along some of 
that water with the dreadful Indian name that you 
are forever washing your face with ? ” 

Apohaqui ? Yes, my dear. I’ve a flask of it in my 
bag. It penetrates the pores and washes out the soot 
as nothing else will.” 

“ Have you a flask of anything else ? ” asked Patricia, 
demurely. 

“ Well — a few,'" admitted Miss Herrick. “ Will you 
have one of my divine cocktails, a Herrick Manhattan, 
or a sip of port ? ” 

“You recommend the cocktails so highly — I feel it 


PATRICIA. * 79 

would be very slighting for me to pass them by ! ” said 
Patricia. 

“ Pray don’t drink up my cocktails if you prefer 
port,” demurred Honora, getting the flasks from her 
bag. “ I feel fully able to — for the love of Heaven I 
there’s Tommy Pell ! ” 

Mr. Pell emerged from his stateroom to make a tour 
of the train just as Honora raised the flask to pour a 
cocktail into the cup. Both flask and cup came near 
having a fall, had Patricia not hastily seized them and 
occupied herself with the task of filling the cup to the 
brim ; whereupon, without waiting for ceremony, she 
drained the vessel dry. 

“Aw — how’ d’ye do ? ” drawled Mr. Pell, nonchal- 
antly, as he approached them. “Just looking about to 
see if I knew any fellows aboard.” He shook hands 
with Honora and glanced at Patricia, but her face was 
buried in the silver cup. 

“ Won’t you sit down ? ” asked Honora, nervously. 

“No-o; no, thanks, going to take a look in the 
smoker and get something to read. Can I be of any 
service to you ? ” with frigid formality. 

“ No, I think not — not now. Would you like a book 
from the library, Patsy ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; no, I thank you,” gasped Patricia, taking a 
terrific gulp of cocktail, immediately upon the last 
word. 


8o 


PATRICIA. 


“ I didn’t know you were taking this train,’' said 
I lonora. 

“ I tried to get off yesterday, missed the train and 
here I am. Supposed were still in Chicago.” 

“ I fancy we were as anxious to get away as 
you, ” she answered, with regained composure, ** and 
having finished our packing, took the first fast 
train.” 

Mr. Pell raised his travelling cap. “ Pray command 
me, if I can serve you in any way,” he said, and passed 
on. 

Honora and Patricia looked at one another without 
speaking. Then Patricia refilled the drinking cup 
with a third generous portion of cocktail, which she 
quaffed with very evident relish. 

“T/y dear ! ” remonstrated Honora. “ Look at that 
bottle! How many drinks, for Heaven’s sake, have 
you had? ” 

“ DonnOy' said Patsy. “ Had to have ’em ! Should 
certainly have fallen on the floor if I hadn’t I Did you 
ever know such dreadful luck?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. We should have run across him 
in New York, undoubtedly; in fact, I think he would 
have called. He’s on his precious dignity, just now, 
but he’ll thaw before we get to the journey’s end. 
Patsy, you shall not have another ! Give me that flask 
and cup.” 


PATRICIA. 


8i 


“ Oh-just-one-more-oh-please,” begged Patricia, run- 
ning her words all into one. 

‘‘ Not another drop,” said Honora sternly. “ Next 
thing I know they’ll be putting us off the train.” 

“ Oh, I wish they would ! ” said Patricia fervently. “ I 
don’t like this train. Let’s get off some place and stay 
all night. It’s an awfully long journey, all at once ! ” 
Now don’t be a little goose,” said Honora. “I’ll 
get you a pillow and you had better take a nap. Try 
to sleep off that jag that’s coming over you.” 

“No ! Don’t want to sleep. Want a jag. Gimme 
some more. I’m going to act like the devil and get 
put off the train ! ” 

Honora sat back in despair. When Patricia got 
into that wild state, there was no knowing what she 
wouldn’t do ! She wished she had kept her eye on 
that cocktail flask, instead of on Tommy Pell! Now 
it would simply ruin everything if Patricia should get 
“ loaded ” in the train! All ideas of persuading Tom 
to marry her might as well be banished henceforth. 

When they were all on a lark, or in her own home, a 
woman’s over-indulgence in stimulating liquids might 
possibly be overlooked ; but the future Mrs. Pell in- 
toxicated on a railroad train was a freak Tom would 
never condone. Honora realized that Patsy must be 
handled very craftily, or she could have no influence 

over her whatever, for the girl had swallowed just 
6 


82 


PATRICIA. 


enough of the insidious mixture to be extremely in- 
dependent and contrary. 

Perhaps a bit of bouillon would be of benefit. She 
would try to get her to lunch. 

“ Are you hungry ? ” she asked. 

“ Nop,'' said Patricia. 

“Well, I am. Suppose we find the dining-car.” 

“ What I have to drink with lunch ? ” 

“ Ginger ale! ” laughed Honora. 

Patricia made awry face. “ Mis’ble stuff ! Not bad, 
with brandy or whisky, though ! ” 

“ I think we’ll have it plain to-day,” said Miss Her- 
rick. “Come.” 

“ One more cocktail ! ” said Patsy, hanging back. 

“ No, you pig, I want all the rest myself. You’ve 
had your share ! ” 

But in the dining-car Patsy grew sulky, and was 
plainly feeling more and more the effects of the cock- 
tails. She pushed everything away as soon as tasted. 

“Water horrid warm!” she complained. “Waiter, 
gimme HI’ chump ice.” 

“No taste t’ meat,” a moment later. “Waiter, HI’ 
Wors’-street hoss, please.” 

“The Worcestershire sauce, waiter,” interpreted 
Honora calmly. 

“ Tish-tish ’n’ tush-tush,” expostulated Patricia, 
“ Don’ do m’ talk f’ me, I tol’ man all ri’,” 


PATRICIA. 


83 


‘‘You diVe drimk ; ” said Honora, witheringly, annoyed 
in the extreme, and fearing every moment that Tom 
would walk into the car and discover Patsy’s predica- 
ment. 

“ Wh’z th’ diff’runce ’tween me ’n’ a drunk’d ? ” asked 
Patsy, good-humoredly. 

“ The same difference there is between an idiot and 
an imbecile,” replied Honora, impatiently. 

Patsy scowled. 

“ You’re a — a lan-gue-ge-ri-anj' she remarked, with a 
great effort to speak intelligibly. 

Honora laughed in spite of herself. 

“ Come, dear, take your coffee, and we’ll go into the 
other car. Don’t talk any more.” 

Patsy glared at her. “ I d’n wan’ hear you talk I 
Please talk Zherm’n. I donno Zherm’n.” 

“ I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you. My knowl- 
edge of the German language is very slight.” 

“ Go I’n Zherm’n, then talk Zherm’n. Don’ wan’ 
hear word y’ say.” 

Drink your coffee,” said Honora, patiently. 

“ Nopy 

Then, come. We will go back to our car.” 

“ Nopr 

“ You can’t stay here all the afternoon, dear ; beside.s 
they will leave this car off by and by.” 

“ All ri’,” contentedly. 


84 


PATRICIA. 


“ Then what would you do ? You haven’t any tickets 
or money ! ” 

^‘All ri’,” indifferently. 

“ Please come, dear.” 

Nop. Go’ll’ stay here see Tom.” 

And, to Honora’s despair, she looked up to see Tom 
entering the car, with his eyes intent upon Patsy. 

Well, there was nothing to do but face the situation 
as calmly as she could. How she wished she had Patsy 
in a ten-acre lot ; she would shake her into enough 
pieces to cover the whole patch ! 

Tom came up to them. Something in Patricia’s 
glance had attracted his attention. 

“ How is the lunch ? ” he asked carelessly, of Honora. 
“ Toinmo,'' piped up Patricia, in the sweetest little 
tone you ever heard, I love you'" 

Neither Tom’s stare of surprise, nor Honora’s gasp 
of dismay appeared to disturb her. With her head 
funnily cocked on one side, her big blue eyes fastened 
appealingly on Tom, she sweetly smiled up into his 
perturbed countenance. 

Then she rose, swaying a bit, as she stood. “ Please, 
take m’ ’way,” she said with gentle dignity. “ Take me 
’way f’m ’Nora! Sh’ says ’m ’n idyut ! ” 

Honora flushed. Tom elevated his eyebrows slightly, 
then took Patricia’s hand and led her from the car, 
Honora following. The passengers near were looking 


PATRICIA. 85 

on with interest, some much entertained and others 
f.owning; but Mr. Pell noticed no one, as he steadied 
I’atsy in her eccentric perambulation down the aisle. 

“ It’s very hard to get about decently with the train 
swaying about in this manner,” he remarked loftily to 
Honora, as they passed from car to car. 

Honora looked searchingly into his face, but there 
was no smile visible. 

‘‘ Oho ! ” she said to herself, “ Mr. Pell defies me 
to insinuate that there is anything in the least peculiar 
in Miss Patsy’s condition. Mr. Pell would resent the 
accusation ! Well, I’m blessed if this isn’t the funniest 
thing out ! ” 

Mr. Pell escorted them to their places, arranged 
pillows for Patsy’s head, and several satchels atop of 
one another, for the comfort of her feet. 

“ Now you must take a little nap,” he said paternally. 

“ Gessnot,” said Patsy. 

“ If you please,” he persisted. 

“ Gimme cocktail ’n’ will,” she promised, drowsily. 

Honora handed him the flask in silence. 

“ I really think she will sleep better for it,” he 
apologized. 

Honora turned to the window, without deigning to 
reply. 

Now, TonimOy lis’n;” 
toas’ : — 


said Patsy, '‘tell you lil’ 


86 


PATRICIA. 


" Here’s t’ one 
*N only one, 

’N may th’t one b’ he, 

Who luffs b’t one, 

’N only one, 

’N may th’t one b’ me.” 

She sipped contentedly the wee cocktail Tom gave 
her, nestled down among the pillows, and reached her 
hand confidingly for his. 

Very soon she slept. Honora still watched the 
passing meadows. Mr. Pell gently laid the hand he 
held beside its companion, and returned to the perusal 
of “ Philip and His Wife.” 


PATRICIA. 


87 


CHAPTER IX. 

“The use of language is to conceal our thoughts.” — Talleyrand. 

And so it all came about that they were friends 
again, in the easiest and most natural way. 

Little Patsy’s lamentable jags seemed destined to 
be mile-marks in her short, eventful career. 

Now that Honora frowned upon her, Tom consti- 
tuted himself her champion — which was a great 
source of amusement to the lady snubbed. Plot and 
plan as she would, to gain Tom’s protection for 
Patricia, failure seemed forever in store for her, till, 
by the mere accident of her disapproval, Patsy had 
him prostrate at her feet ! There he sat, pretending 
to read a book, but in reality keeping a strict lookout 
that no flies alighted on Patricia’s nose ; fanning her 
at intervals, keeping the shade drawn just right, and a 
sharp lookout for draughts. It was all Honora could 
do to keep a straight countenance ; but she resolutely 
meditated upon matters prosaic — upon the geological 
formation of the rocks they passed, upon the botanical 
beauties of the foliage, until finally she grew sleepy, 


88 


PATRICIA. 


herself, and calling for a pillow, joined Patsy in the 
Land of Nod. 

When Patsy awoke, the lamps were being lighted. 
Opposite her sat Tom, apparently absorbed in his 
book. Across the aisle, Honora still slumbered. 

Tom looked up as she stirred. 

Did you have a nice nap 1 ” he inquired cheerily. 

‘‘ Have I been asleep ? ” asked Patsy, yet in a bit of 
a daze. 

“ I thought so,” smiled Tom. 

Patsy sat up and looked about her. 

“We went to lunch,” she said meditatively, with 
returning memory, “ but I can’t seem to remember 
coming back.” 

“ The less one remembers in this world, the better, 
usually,” was Tom’s unfortunate comment, whereupon 
Patricia remembered a great deal. Her face became 
vividly crimson, then quickly pale again. She looked 
around for Honora. 

“ Don’t wake her,” said Tom, cursing himself for an 
ass; and, hunting about for a change of subject, hastily 
proposed a game of bezique. 

But Patsy had withdrawn into her shell. Why had 
he reminded her of everything just when she had for- 
gotten, for a moment or two ! She declined the game 
of cards, and paid little attention to his attempts at 
conversation. She answered civilly, yes, or no, when 


PATRICIA. 89 

a question required reply, but, otherwise, was provok- 
ingly mute. 

I think I will wake Honora,” she finally vouch- 
safed. 

“ Why ? ” asked Tom. 

“ I am hungry.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be easier to eat her asleep? With all 
her muscles relaxed she’d be tenderer.” 

Patricia regarded him witheringly. 

I want some dinner,” she said, with comical hau- 
teur. 

“ Well, if you will spare Honora, I will be happy to 
see what they can do for you in the dining-car.” 

I’ll not go to dinner and leave Honora here all 
alone,” she said, indignantly. 

“ For fear some one else will eat her ? ” he earnestly 
inquired. 

“ Oh, how very silly you are ! ” she exclaimed, irri- 
tably. 

“ Well, we don’t want too many brains in the 
family,” he meekly responded. 

“ What family ? ” 

‘‘Ours. You have enough intelligence for us both, 
I’m sure.” 

“ I don’t belong to your family and you are very, 
ver_y rude to me.” 

“ To be sure you are not a member of my family 


90 


PATRICIA. 


yet, but you will be soon, won’t you ? ” he remarked, 
with calm effrontery. 

I shall wake Honora ! ” 

** So you have been telling me, for ever so long.” 

Patsy rushed across the aisle, and gave Honora a 
sharp little shake. Honora blinked, yawned and 
looked drowsily up into the scowling little face above 
her. 

“ I’m hungry,” complained Patsy. 

Ring the bell ; get something to eat,” said Honora, 
sleepily, calmly closing her eyes again. 

“ Honora dear ! It is dinner time ! ” 

“ Oh ! Get Tom to take you in. Is he here ? ” 

“ No,” said Patricia. 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Patsy loftily, looking out of 
the window. 

Honora managed to open her eyes wide enough to 
glance across the aisle, and a broad smile illumined 
her countenance as she did so. 

Tom came over to her. “ I will go in and order dinner 
for you, if you like,” he suggested. 

“ While we smooth our frowsy tresses, and bathe 
our cindered skins ? Thank you. I believe Patsy is 
very hungry, and there is no time to be lost.” 

“ There is no need to bother Mr. Pell,” demurred 
Patsy. 


PATRICIA. 


9T 

“ I really don’t know what I’ve done,” said Tom, de- 
precatingly, — “ but I’m in awful disgrace — even rhi- 
noceros epidermis feels the sting of her scathing scorn.” 

‘‘ Patsy,” said Honora severely, as Tom departed, 
“ if you only could stop thinking of yourself for about 
ten minutes, we might have a very nice time ! I really 
can’t see the use of your being a perpetual wet blanket. 
We are all on this train, with the evening and the 
morning before us, whether we like it or not ; and it 
seems to me it would be much more sensible to be as 
affable as we can to each other, instead of being as 
intensely disagreeable as we know how. It is all 
very well to harbor our individual grievances when 
we can command a whole dormitory to grieve in, 
but a railroad car is rather too small a space to 
vent ill-humor. I have no doubt Tom would very 
much have preferred some other train than this, 
had he known we were aboard of it, but knowing noth- 
ing of the sort, and being ignorant, ourselves, of his 
intentions, here we all are. Tom is doing his best to 
be courteous to us. You are doing your best to exhibit 
how w try gauche you can be. If you can take life less 
seriously at dinner, and think a little of some one be- 
sides yourself, I am sure it will help my appetite 
wonderfully.” 

“Oh, Honora! How can you speak so unkindly to 
me ! ” moaned Patsy tearfully. 


g2 


PATRICIA. 


“You want to cut your own switches, I presume,*' 
laughed Honora. “ We had a little darky boy at home 
that my father used to thrash when he misbehaved. 
He would send him out to cut the switches to be 
whipped with ; and that precocious black child used to 
take precious good care to cut mighty rotten rods. You 
resent being punished with switches that hurt. I sup- 
pose you would prefer to have me say, ‘ Patsy, love, 
let us sit down with a nice, fat bottle of Ruinart be- 
tween us, while I gently chide thee ! ’ ” 

Patsy giggled, in spite of herself. 

“ But I’m bound to wake you up,” resumed Honora. 
“ This morbid, irritable state is neither good for 
yourself, nor agreeable for those about you. Just 
kindly think how wearing it is upon me ! Smile 
upon me, now and then, if only out of sheer 
charity ! ” 

“ Oh, I’m very sorry ! ” exclaimed Patricia, peni- 
tently. “ I never meant to be so unpleasant.” 

“ It is not what we mean to do, that counts, dear ; it 
is what we do. If you accidentally put a man’s eye 
out, it will not count very much with him, that you 
did not mean to do it ! Here, dear, bathe your face 
in this violet water, and we’ll go and see how Tom is 
getting on.” 

Patsy was very brilliant that evening. She con- 
versed with composure, related several amusing anec- 


PATRICIA. 


93 


dotes, and was so much like her old self that only 
Honora knew what an effort she was making. Tom 
was simply dumb at first, when she sailed up to the 
table, guyed him on his choice of viands, and declared 
he had devoted himself to looking up those edibles she 
most disliked ! She refused wine. 

Wine makes me cross,” she explained. I’m never 
going to drink any more all my life ! ” 

“ We must make you out a pledge,” said Honora. 

“ I don’t think good wines ever hurt any one,” argued 
Tom. “ It is the inferior stuff that makes one ill and 
disgruntled with the world. Take the poor man who 
gets crazy on bad whisky ; — it is horrible, fiery stuff, 
that eats the lining off his stomach and fills him with 
evil passions. Now a good wine, or liquor, puts one 
at peace with the world, soothes and comforts a 
man.” 

“You ought to know,” put in Honora. 

“ If I ever get rich — as rich as Rockefeller for in- 
stance ” 

“ Or Hetty Green,” interpolated Patsy. 

“ I am going to establish saloons for the poor man. 
Only the best whisky will be sold there, at the price 
of cheap whisky. Then a poor, tired wretch will be 
able to get a good drink, for a nickel or a dime, that 
won’t put the devil into him. He won’t go home and 
beat his wife on the sort of whisky / shall sell. It will 


94 


PATRICIA. 


have an elevating influence upon him. He will feel on 
a level with his fellow-man, and more kindly disposed 
toward all humanity.” 

“Would there be a family entrance?” demurely 
asked Patsy. 

“ Have you ever tried running for Congress ? ” 
chaffed Honora. 

“ It would do away with anarchy- ” 

“Your running for Congress?” said Patsy. 

“ I suppose as long as there is not the slightest pros- 
pect of your ever being a millionaire,” said Honora, 
“that it is a waste of time for me to point out to you 
the flaws in your sweet scheme ; but I would like to 
mention to you one serious drawback — your poor man 
wouldn’t like your good whisky — wouldn’t have it at 
any price ! ” 

“ Wouldn’t like it ! ” exclaimed Tom indignantly. 
“ Do you think because a man is poor he had rather 
have oleomargarine than fresh, sweet butter, if they 
were both to be had at the same price ? ” 

“ I think a man who is accustomed to drinking poor 
liquors can’t appreciate good ones.” 

“ Oh, I grant you that ; he may not appreciate them 
at first ; he must be educated to that ; but he will like 
them.” 

“ Nor like them,” persisted Honora. “ I remember 
when my father and I were stopping at a little inn up 


PATRICIA. 


95 


in the Berkshire Hills, one time, he took quite a fancy 
to a laborer on the farm there. He was a quaint old 
fellow — Peter Sparks — I always remembered his name. 
Papa asked him in one day for a drink, and I suppose 
he had some such idea as you have about giving the 
poor man ‘ good stuff,’ for when Peter said he would 
have brandy, papa ordered the best cognac they had. I 
was sitting in the window, at the time, and I remember 
papa filled his own glass up with soda, while old Peter 
dashed his down clear. Papa noticed he looked rather 
disappointed as he put down his glass. ‘ How do you 
like that, Peter? ’ he asked. ‘ Wal,’ said Peter, ‘these 
air new hotels don’t have th’ same likker they has over 
to th’ old place.’ — ‘ Do you know what you’ve been 
drinking ? ’ asked papa. — ‘ Wal, no, I don’t,’ said Peter ; 
‘ I should skercely call ’t brandy.’ — ‘ Why, you old 
gump,’ said my father, ‘ that’s the best brandy in the 
house — forty cents a drink,’ ‘ Eh ? ’ says Peter, ‘ wal, 
you be a sucker, ’n’ no mistake. Why, over t’ th’ oP 
tav’n you kin get a drink o’ brandy fer Jive cents that 
’ll bu’n yer th’ hull way down inside.’ ” 

“ I think you’d make a good stump-speaker, Ho- 
nora,” retaliated Tom. “ That is your forte when the 
New Woman steers the ship. Now, you could give 
that tale quite a political twist.” 

“ It is not a vejy elegant anecdote,” said Patricia, 
with assumed austerity. 


96 


PATRICIA. 


“ It knocks Tom’s philanthropic saloon-scheme into 
a cocked hat, though ! ” mocked Honora. 

“ By which I am to infer that you do not believe in 
philanthropy?” questioned Tom. 

“Not in sentimental philanthropy!” said Honora 
severely. 

“ Well, now, a few days ago we had a little conversa- 
tion that convinced me that was the one thing you did 
believe in ! ” 

Honora looked at him warningly. 

“ Speaking of cognac^' said Patricia, innocently, “ re- 
minds me that I would like a bit of burned brandy for 
my coffee ! ” 

“ Otherwise you would never have thought of it ! ” 
commented Honora. 

“ And since you mention the subject,” said Tom, as 
he ordered the brandy brought, “ I want to observe to 
Miss Herrick that her old man of the mountains 
hasn’t changed my philanthropical plans one whit. 
The poor man is just as near his good dram of whisky 
for a dime as before she tried to ruin my philan- 
thropical purposes ! ” 

“ Just as near. I’ve no doubt,” laughed Honora. 

“ And will you tend bar yourself in a white linen 
coat and a long apron?” asked Patsy. “I suppose 
they will call you Gentleman Tom ! ” 


MfkiciA. 9^ 

“Your knowledge of a bar-tender’s attire shocks 
me ! ” exclaimed Tom. 

“ She must have been patronizing the family en- 
trance,” said Honora. 

Patsy disdained to notice these remarks. 

“ When I make a world,” she said meditatively, “ I 
shall have all the liquor saloons belong to the Govern- 
ment ” 

“ Instead of to the police,” commented Tom. 

“The Government will be responsible for the quality 
of liquor sold — and also the quantity. The people 
will be portioned off into districts, afid each registered 
just as they are for voting, and a man can only buy 
his liquor at the saloon in his district — just as he can 
only vote at one polling-booth. There will be tickets 
sold which will be just as good a guarantee for the 
quality of the article as a postage-stamp is to carry 
your letter to the place addressed. The tickets will be 
numbered, and a man will only be permitted to use so 
many a day.” 

“ We’ll have to get an ambulance to take Patsy’s 
head into the sleeper,” groaned Honora. 

So a pleasant evening passed. All personal topics 
were avoided. They played a few games of bezique 
and chaffed one another good-naturedly. 

It had all come about that they were friends again, 
in the easiest and most natural way. 

7 


98 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER X. 

“ Virtue is more ancient than nobility,” says the Spaniard. 

The weird music of the Danse du Ventre floated 
through the Waldorf corridors. Men and women, 
in smart attire, wended their way to the long dining- 
room, where the soft glow from myriad candles, gayly 
petticoated in red or yellow, shed a becoming light 
upon the rich costumes of the women, and softened 
lines of care. 

Others sauntered in the opposite direction, to the 
smaller restaurant, where more gayety prevailed, where 
the lights were less subdued and blue smoke curled 
upward into the huge dome above from the cigarettes 
and cigars of the men ; — the Midzvay Plaisance some 
one has christened it — (whether the Major, or Cholly 
Knickerbocker, I could not certainly say). A younger 
element was here assembled, and there was less dig- 
nity among the diners. 

Two women stepped from the elevator into the wide 
corridor, with its comfortable lounging-chairs and short 
settles, and looked about them with evident interest. 


PATRICIA. 


99 


One was tall and would be called beautiful ; the 
other, pretty and petite. The taller of the two was the 
elder, and much the more reserved. She smiled in- 
dulgently, at the enthusiastic delight of her youthful 
companion over the scene about them. 

“ Paris cannot be a bit nicer than this ! ” the young 
girl exclaimed. “ It is so bright and gay here — and 
what fascinating furniture,” as they entered the Egyp- 
tian room. “ See those quaint little inlaid desks and 
the tall ottomans. Oh, how I do like it ! ” 

The other smiled. “ Not all of Paris is so nice as 
this, by any means. I am glad you like it. I wish 
now I had stopped here going out, — but it was just 
opened then, and I have a horror of new hotels.” 

A fat Turk, in gorgeous native costume, waddled 
pompously about, preparing coffee in a richly lacquered 
urn. Men and women, in little groups, discussed the 
day’s events, or planned the programme for the evening. 
Here and there a lonely one scanned the doorway 
eagerly, watching for some one’s promised coming. 

The two strangers crossed the room, and selected a 
cozy window-seat from which to view the scene. 

The taller was wonderfully blonde, and her toilet, of 
black cripe de chine, set out her rare tints to artistic 
advantage. A rope of silver, the wide buckles thickly 
studded with turquoises, girdled the frock, and was the 
only ornament she wore save an antique turquoise pin 


lOO 


PATRICIA. 


at the throat. The younger woman was youthfully 
dressed in white organdie, very simply made, over a 
green slip, with sash of green, edged with butter-col- 
ored lace, and tiny fans of green falling down over the 
sleeve puffs. She was blonde in a different way from 
her companion, having hair of ruddy gold, with copper 
tints gleaming through it, and on the bridge of her nose 
a nest of infinitely tiny freckles would have matched 
the tint of her hair had they been a bit more pro- 
nounced. 

A gentleman, tall, dark, and cursed with a most blasd 
air approached them. 

“Are you ready to dine?” he inquired, after greet- 
ing them. “ I thought you would prefer the palm- 
room, Honora, so I have had a table reserved there. 
Patsy will like it best — I think.” 

“It looks very jolly,” said Patsy; “only I shall be 
wanting to smoke cigarettes with the little dudes ! ” 

“ Have you any cigarettes about you ? ” asked Tom, 
in assumed alarm. 

“ Not one,” sighed Patsy. 

“Then I suppose we can risk her behaving properly,” 
said Tom to Honora, with apparent relief. 

“You know quite well,” pouted Patsy,” that my be- 
havior is very nice now! Honora threatened to give 
me to an orphan’s home if I didn’t be a lovely cherub, 
and she said I wouldn’t get any chicken after-the- 


PATRICIA. 


lOI 


manner-of-the-devil there, and would soon be sorry 
I hadn’t put my Sunday manners on when told ! I 
wonder, though, why they say h la diable — and the 
French a chivalrous people ! To insinuate that the 
devil is a woman is very rude, I say.” 

Honora looked at her meditatively. Ever since she 
had lectured her so sharply in the train, Patricia’s flow 
of animal spirits seemed ever on the gain. She talked 
incessantly, in a chattering way, laughed a little too 
loudly, and never for a moment seemed downcast. 
Honora’s heart ached for her. She knew how doubly 
sad, beneath it all, the little woman was, “ And, yet,” 
she argued, it is far, far better that she should assume 
a gayety, for appearances’ sake, than go about with so 
mournful a countenance that every one will comment 
and question.” 

“ I have heard,” Tom was saying, “that the only 
thing one could give the devil credit for was that he 
never laid the blame of his eccentricities upon his wife.” 

“ I have heard him given the credit for very many 
more things than that ! ” said Patsy. 

“ Let us discuss our dinner instead of the devil,” 
remarked Honora, “ or some one else will be stealing 
our table.” 

They had Turkish coffee in the Eastern salon, later, 
and then Patricia asked to be excused. 

“ It is all so exciting,” she apologized, “ it makes me 


102 


PATRICIA. 


rather tired. I am so unaccustomed to going about 
much. I would like to retire, if you do not mind.” 

“ I suppose this is your good behavior,” said Tom ; — 
“ the early to bed and early to rise slice of it.” 

“ I am sorry you are so tired, dear,” said Honora ; 
“ but do go up, if you wish. I will follow you before 
very long. How long are you staying in New York, 
Tommo ? ” turning to him with Patsy’s departure. 

I am going to Paris with you.” 

“ I think not ! — I don’t want you.” 

“Then I will go to Paris alone — on the same 
steamer.” 

“ I thought you came over here to learn something 
of the American continent. Do you consider Chicago 
the beginning and end of America ? ” sternly. 

“ Why ignore New York. I have an impression that 
I landed here, at least.” 

“ Oh, simply landing doesn’t count ! And a few 
days cooped up in this club and that cannot instruct 
you much about the country.” 

“I have learned a great deal about New York, 
though,” he insisted. “ For instance the price of the 
Hotel Martin table d hote is raised to a dollar and a 
quarter — and you must pay a dollar and a half if you 
don’t buy wine — intemperance is simply thrust upon 
you ! Koster and Bial have moved their concert hall 
up town which is now nightly patronized by reputable 


PATRICIA. 


103 


citizens. John Drew has become a star; and Town 
Topics, since a change in the editorship, is read in re- 
spectable families.” 

** I maligned you, my friend — I take it all back — you 
are splendidly informed. But really^ Tom, now you 
are here, I should think you would enjoy a little tour 
in your own country.” 

“ And is not the European continent wide enough 
for thee and me at one and the same time, Honora?” 

It is hardly wide enough for you and Patsy — just 
now. I want her to forget you. It would be easier if 
you were far away.” 

“ If I am at one end of Paris and she at the other, 
there is an immense distance between us.” 

“ And some night she would be at the theatre, it is 
possible, and you in the next box.” 

“Well, I would not make love to her, even that 
near, if it would distress you.” 

“ I wish you would talk sensibly, Tom. You do not 
care in the least what distresses me or any one else — as 
you very well know. I am interested in Patricia’s 
welfare. She is too sweet a girl to go to the dogs, 
and I intend to do my utmost to make her life worth 
living ! ” 

“ And her life won^t be worth living if I am in 
Paris ? ” 

“There is just one of two things you can do, Tom, 


104 


PATRICIA. 


dear ; — either stay quite away for a year, while I do 
all I can to uproot her unfortunate love for you — or — 
ask her, again, to marry you.’* 

Have you a preference?” he queried, very meekly. 

“ I prefer the latter,” she replied, concisely. “ I 
think you would have better luck another time.” 

“ I am afraid so,” dubiously. 

‘^Very well,” said Honora, lightly, “we will not 
discuss it, if you feel in that way. I do not want 
Patricia to live with you. You would not make her 
happy. I would want her to leave you immediately 
after the ceremony and come with me.” 

“ Will you kindly explain to me where I would come 
in?” 

“You' would be free and foot-loose, to go wherever 
you would, with whomever you would.” 

“ And what benefit would Patricia derive from this 
mere ceremony ? ” 

“ The station of an honest woman — that is all ! 
Simply, she could hold up her head in the world, and 
say, if the worst happened, ^ I am a wife ! ’ ” 

“What! You don’t mean — 

“ I mean nothing. Simply, how can we foresee 
what may occur? The possible occasionally presents 
itself 1 ” 

“ If I thought that ” 

“ I do not wish you to be influenced by that 


I>ATRICIA. 


105 


thought ! The question is, merely, do you, or do you 
not, owe Patricia the duty of placing her as well in the 
world as you found her/’ 

“ Had she a very exalted station ? ” 

“ She had what was ‘ beyond price — and more pre- 
cious than rubies ; ’ — something you are powerless to 
return to her , — purity ! ” 

Tom was silent for several moments. 

“ Marriage is a very serious thing,” he remarked — 
not very originally — at last. 

“ A woman’s honor is of some little moment.” 

“You see,” Tom continued, “ if I merely married 
her, and then we separated, who knows what might 
follow ! What serious scandal might occur ! A de- 
serted wife can hardly be expected to hold her hus- 
band’s name in great esteem ! ” 

“ I hope you would not always be separated — that 
she would not consider herself deserted — that the day 
would come when you would send for her to come to 
you ; — that, meanwhile, she would accept our explana- 
tion that she needed a broader education before she 
was fitted to take her place by your side.” 

“ There has never been a scandal in our family,” he 
said, musingly, “ not where a Pell woman was con- 
cerned. The men were a bad enough lot, I believe, but 
they took precious good care to select virtuous wives. 
I would not like to be the first to tarnish the name.” 


io6 


PATRICIA. 


“ And have you always done such credit to the 
name of Pell ? ” 

“ Whatever I might do — so long as I did not commit 
a crime — the world would wink at. I may not 
murder, steal, nor beg ; but a liaiso7i with a woman is 
an escapade — a peccadillo — it is only noticed with a 
smile. With a woman it is very different. She has 
it in her power to insult and humiliate her husband as 
he never could her. A stain on a woman’s name cor- 
rodes and rusts for all time.” 

“ That is what I am try'ng to impress upon you,” 
said Honora earnestly. 

Tom looked up with a start. 

“ Honora, you cause me to feel very contemptible ! 
I will marry Patricia — if she will have me ; — but under 
certain temporary conditions.” He was silent a few 
moments, then continued, meditatively. “ Since it would 
be best that the marriage take place as soon as possible, 
I would suggest that to-morrow be the wedding-day ; 
but as it is altogether contrary to my temperament to 
so suddenly leap into a bargain so serious, I should 
prefer it to be just as little of a marriage as possible ; 
then, should either of us wish to escape from the 
bonds, there need not be a devil of a lot of publicity. 
If Patsy is willing to marry me quite privately — the 
ceremony performed by a magistrate, 'you the sole 
witness, and the whole affair kept secret among us 


PATRICIA. 107 

four — I am ready to take the bridegroom part at any 
hour the lady will name.” 

“ And, then, in a few years, you will take her home, 
Tom ?” said Honora, wistfully. 

I shall not let her go away,” he replied thoughtfully. 
“ I think I will make the American tour you suggest 
and take, Patsy with me. I prefer to put it to the test 
at once whether we can live together happily, or not. I 
don’t want a wife hanging over my head like Damocles’ 
sword — knowing that some day I must accept or re- 
ject her. No, we will work the experiment out, right 
now. A constant companionship will teach us in a 
very few months how we shall get on, and if we do not 
hit it off, I shall suggest a short sojourn in Dakota to 
Patsy, for the benefit of her health, while I play a little 
engagement as deserter ! I marry her because you 
have convinced me that I owe it to her ; but if she is 
lovable and true I shall undoubtedly grow very fond 
of her, and we’ll be a model couple to the end of the 
tale.” 

“ Oh, Tom !” exclaimed Honora with emotion, “I 
knew I could believe in you ! ” 

Tom rose. 

If you would speak to Patsy,” he said, hesitat- 
ingly. 

“ Do you wish me to propose for you ? ” smiled 
Honora. 


io8 


PATRICIA. 


“ I think you would accomplish it better than I ; ” 
he said modestly. “ The ceremony is all very simple, 
but I don’t know whether it would be so simple to 
explain to Patricia ! I might begin wrong end to, and 
land nowhere ! After having expended so much of 
my valuable time and thought in working out this 
problem, I don’t want my work queered by a mistake 
in the final figuring.” 

‘‘You wish me to talk it all over with her, and then 
come and assure you in advance that you will be ac- 
cepted.” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ I will meet you here to-morrow at twelve.” 


PATRICIA. 


109 


CHAPTER XL 

“ Personally, I have a theory that a secret is safe, only when known 
to three persons, two of whom are dead.” — Balch. 

The words had been said. There could be no re- 
call. “ For better, for worse . . . to love and to cherish 
until death us do part . . . and thereto I plight thee 
my troth.” 

The sweet, solemn sentences rang in Patsy’s ear as 
she raised her pale face for the bridegroom’s caress. 

It had been as quiet a wedding as Tom could desire. 
A single vase of bride-roses on the centre-table of 
Honora’s small parlor was the only attempt at decora- 
tion. There were no floral arches or bells ; no brides- 
maids, pages, or groomsmen ; no surpliced choir : no 
wedding march had been played. 

The bride wore a simple toilet of Dresden silk, 
quaintly beflowered — the only bridal bit about it a 
girdle and collarette of white moir6. 

She was given away by Honora who was as unosten- 
tatiously arrayed. A sprig of orange blossoms orna- 
mented the lapel of the groom’s frock-coat, and Patricia 


no 


PATRICIA. 


carried a single spray of the flower in her prayer-book. 
But one other person was present — an old college-chum 
and club-friend of Tom’s — a young lawyer — who had the 
distinction of stamping legal documents with a large 
ornamental seal, in which the words Justice of the 
Peace were prominent. He had assented to Tom’s 
request to perform the ceremony, and cheerfully 
agreed to keep the affair a profound secret. 

He looked curiously now at the two women. Honora 
had taken Patricia in her arms, in loving congratula- 
tion, and tears glistened on her eyelashes ; but Patsy 
remained remarkably unperturbed. 

“ I should think the older one would have been Tom’s 
choice,” was Mr. Thorn’s thought. “ The little one 
can’t have finished eating bread and butter ! Miss 
Herrick is stunningly put up, and of a sweet nature, I 
should say ; she appears quite affected to part from 
her young friend. The bride seems indifferent to the 
whole affair — a tedious little clam I should judge. I 
never .cared for a baby to rear myself!” Then he 
stepped forward and wished the bride happiness, 
gravely kissing her cheek. 

Patricia blushed and instinctively drew back. 

The minister’s privilege,” laughed Mr. Thorn. 

Has every one kissed the bride ? ” said Tom, look- 
ing about into the recesses of the apartment. “ And 
has every lady a box of cake ? ” 


PATRICIA. 


Ill 


“ Oh, the cake ! ” said Patricia, with sudden agitation. 
“ Really, Honora, we might have had cake ! ” 

Indeed we might, dear,” said Honora, with contri- 
tion. “ I don’t know how I came to forget ! ” 

We will have some later,” said Tom soothingly. 

“ It has to be ordered beforehand ! ” lamented 
Patsy. 

“ Oh, I think we can get some — we will try the 
woman’s exchange — I will go myself, as soon as 
luncheon.” 

Oh, never mind,” said Patricia hopelessly, “ I don’t 
care for it after all ! Only a wedding without any cake 
seemed queer ! — and there won’t be anybody to throw 
shoes and rice at us ! ” turning piteously to Tom. 

Upon my oath ! that’s something terrible ! ” he 
exclaimed, kissing her quivering little lips. “ Prob- 
ably the only opportunity in my life when I stood 
some sort of a show of getting hit in the head with an 
old shoe, no one will shy one at me ! ” 

“ Of course. I’m very silly,” said Patricia, who did 
not quite like being laughed at before a stranger, “ but, 

you know, at weddings ” 

“ No, I don’t know a thing about weddings,” inter- 
rupted Tom. “ I am glad we have escaped one and 
had a civilized ceremony. I’m sure we shouldn’t feel 
comfortable, dearie, with a quart of rice chucked inside 
of our shirts ; if we must have rice showered into us, 


II2 


PATRICIA. 


I’d rather have it thrust down my throat. Won’t you 
be consoled with a dish of it boiled ? ” 

Patricia swallowed a big lump in her throat. “Some- 
how, I wish you wouldnt make fun of me — to-day^'' she 
said, in a low tone. 

“ Shall we all descend to the bridal banquet ? ” spoke 
up Honora, cheerily. “ We are just having a little 
lunch served in the main dining-room,” she explained 
to Mr. Thorn. “ We thought if we took a private 
room, or made any sort of a function of it, it might be 
discovered that we were celebrating a very special 
event, so we will just lunch in the regular way.” 

“Yes,” sighed Patricia, “ it would never do to be 
suspected of such an eccentricity as marriage!” 

Mr. Thorn looked up as she spoke, marvelling at the 
bitterness in her tone. “ There is more to her than 
I thought,” he told himself, “ and more in this secrecy 
than I imagined. The bride is not content.” 

He finished filling in the certificate, crossed the 
room, and handed it to her. 

“ I think you’d best lock that up in your trunk,” said 
Honora. 

“ Put it in yours,” said Patricia, extending the paper 
to her. “ Keep it for us.” 

“ Is that agreed upon ? ” hesitated Honora, looking 
at Tom. 

“As Mrs. Pell wishes,” said Tom courteously. 


PATRICIA. 


II3 

Patsy’s face brightened as she heard her new name 
uttered in Tom’s soft, languid tones. 

“ Please keep it for us, dear Honora. I’d be sure to 
leave it lying about or lose it,” she urged. 

“ Very well, it shall be put in a long envelope, sealed 
and addressed to you, ready stamped for mailing to 
the United States, so that it would reach you safely 
again, in case of any accident to me.” 

“ And you sail to-morrow. Miss Herrick ? ” inquired 
Mr. Thorn, as they sat down at luncheon. 

^‘Yes, I am almost sorry to say, for New York is a 
very charming city ; but yet, I long a little for home 
— for my beautiful Paris and my own little snuggery 
on the Faubourg St. Germain ! ” 

Ah, you cling to the old quartier'' 

‘‘Yes, the more wide-awake people are moving 
away to the newer and healthier portions of Paris ; but 
I am fond of the locality ; I have such a very comfort- 
able apartment in a big, wide house, with a large garden 
at the back. I will hope to show you some hospi- 
tality, when you visit Paris again ; you must dine with 
me at least.” 

“ Are we going away to-day? ” Patricia was asking 
Tom. 

“ No, dear, not to-day. I thought you would like 
to be with Honora till she sailed, and I have a few 

matters of business to attend to..” 

8 


PATRICIA. 


II4 

“ Business ! ” ejaculated Honora, overhearing. 
** Whatever can j/ou be doing with business ? " 

“ I suppose,” said Tom, drawing himself up with a 
great air of dignity, “ that when a man has taken unto 
himself a wife he may be permitted to make his will, 
get his life insured, and perform a few such grave 
duties, without being sneered at ! ” 

“ Goodness gracious ! If you have all that to do,” 
said Honora, “ you’ll not get away for a week.” 

“Possibly not,” drawled Tom, “but there are worse 
places than New York to be detained in ! ” 

“ I suppose you are going to Niagara, Pell,” said Mr. 
Thorn teasingly. 

“Well, I think not!” Mr. Pell responded. “ How- 
ever, we have not yet made any plans.” 

“ Lenox and Newport are still in swing,” Mr. Thorn 
further suggested. 

“ Where would you like best to go, Patsy ? ” asked 
Tom. 

“ Well,” hesitatingly, “ will it matter if it is a very long 
journey ? ” 

“ Not a bit. We have years before us, I trust. We 
will go to any place you like.” 

“ I have been thinking of Quebec ; that is where 
Basil and Isabel March went, you know.” 

“ Basil and Isabel March 1 ” exclaimed Tom, mysti- 
fied. 


PATRICIA. 


II5 

“ Oh, she means the hero and heroine of Their Wed- 
ding Journey!' interposed Honora. “ Howell’s story, 
don’t you know ! ” 

No ! Don’t know,” said Tom ; “ but if they went 
there it must be all right. Were they decorous peo- 
ple?” 

“ Oh, very ! ” said Patricia, “ they came from Boston,” 
as though that fact established everything in their 
favor. 

“ Do you come from the East, Mrs. Pell ? ” inquired 
Thorn. 

“ Yes,” she answered in a subdued tone. 

“ Boston is a very diverting little town,” he con- 
tinued. 

“ Yet the wise men come away from there,” re- 
marked Tom. “You always hear how the wise men 
come from the East. If it is such a great place, why 
don’t they stop there? ” 

“ I presume they are called wise forgetting out,” said 
Honora. 

“ Isabel and Basil March,” broke in Patricia, 
“ stopped at a number of little places on the way to 
Montreal, but I don’t think we’ll care for that. I don’t 
believe we will want to stop at Buffalo and Rochester, 
and all that ; do you ? I had rather go right through to 
Montreal, then down the St. Lawrence to Quebec, and 
afterwards up the Saguenay, stopping at those queec 


Ii6 


PATRICIA. 


little French villages it tells about in A Chance Ac* 
quaintanceA 

‘‘ Is this more Howells queried Tom. 

A small boy in livery went in and out among the 
tables — “ 306, 306,” he called ; “ note for 306.” 

Honora signalled him. “ Oh, this is nice,'’ she said, 
taking up the tiny envelope, “ a note from Annette.” 

“ Is she in town? ” asked Patsy, eagerly. 

“ It would seem so — the note has come by a mes- 
senger ; yes, has just returned and got my letter — will 
wish me bon voyage at the pier, as she has an ‘ assign- 
ment ’ for the afternoon and evening. ‘ Where is Mr. 
Pell ? ’ she asks, ‘ and how is Patsy ? I am suffering 
to see you all — and for your own self, I’ve a hug as big 
as my heart! Yours — till some one else asks me — 
Annette.* ’* 

‘‘ She is very original,” said Mr. Thorn. 

“ She earns her bread and butter — and occasionally, 
jam — by being original,” replied Honora. “She is a 
journalist — a very lovely girl ; a good girl, but the kind 
that never rubs your fur the wrong way. Virtue that 
is puffed up and vaunteth itself is so tedious ; don’t 
you think so, Mr. Thorn?” 

“ I think it does a great deal of harm in the world,” 
said Mr. Thorn, gravely. “ Out and out vice is not 
half so pernicious as rugged, rampant virtue. While 
you shun latent evil, a man is apt to run so hard from 


PATRICIA. 


II7 

a pillar of piety, that he runs clean down to the devil ! 
The drunkard in the gutter preaches twice as effective 
a sermon as the man who buttonholes you with a 
temperance lecture.” 

“If I could lay any claim to virtue,” said Tom — 
(“ Modest young man ! ” muttered Honora) — “I do not 
know of anything that would so quickly drive me to 
the paths of evil as to feel tolerably well convinced 
that there were certain of my acquaintances I should 
not meet there ! ” 

“ The ostentatiously virtuous are very wearying,” 
Honora observed ; “but when people can be good and 
conceal it — now, that is very clever, I think. I always 
admired Annette because it took me some time to find 
out she was not an ordinary mortal like the rest of us. 
She used to regularly attend church, but she did not 
drop in with her prayer-book to tell you she was going, 
nor later favor us with the text. I used to whiff 
cigarette-smoke in her face, and she never told me it 
made her ill, or frowned upon my little vice. ‘ I want 
people to do just as they like, in this world,’ she said ; 
‘ they have a right to order their lives as they will ; I 
do not criticise any one, but, for my part, I would like 
the privilege of living too in whatever way it suits 
me. I have just as much right to be respectable as 
other people have to be disreputable, and if I do not 
criticise their tastes, why should they criticise mine ?’ ” 


Ii8 


PATRICIA. 


“ And Miss Annette is to be at the pier, to-morrow ?’ ’ 
inquired Mr. Thorn. 

“Yes,” laughed Honora, “will you like to meet 
her?” 

“ I should esteem it an honor.” 

“ Then you must arise very early, and be at the 
dock.” 

“ You will find me there before you.” 

“ I warn you — she’s not a bit of a flirt.” 

“ Then she is all the more unique. I am most anx- 
ious to meet her.” 

Honora rose from the table. 

“ What do you say to a drive, Tom ? ” 

“ I say it would be a very pleasant way of passing 
the afternoon.” 

“ We could drive out on the Kingsbridge Road, and 
stop for dinner at the Claremont returning.” 

“ I shall never accuse you of not knowing your own 
country. Can you go with us. Thorn ? ” 

“ I am at your disposal.” 

“ Then Patsy and I will fly upstairs for our bonnets,” 
said Honora, “ while you men enjoy a cigar. Look for 
us in the Egyptian room, please, when you are ready 
to go.” 


PATRICIA. 


II9 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ O, you foolish, foolish little maidens, with your dainty heads so full 
of unwisdom, how often, oh, how often, are you to be warned, that it is 
not always the sweetest lovers who make good wearing husbands.” — 
Jerome K. Jerome. 

It had been determined that Patricia should remain 
at. the Waldorf till the hour of departure for Canada, 
while Tom continued his residence at the Club. 

“ It will be pleasant for you to be with Honora till 
she goes,” Tom had said, “ and then if you will re- 
tain her apartments for one more day, it will be less 
awkward than re-registering you as Mrs. Pell. To be 
sure, we could go somewhere else, but it hardly seems 
worth while, for a single day. We shall get away for 
Canada the evening after Honora’s departure, and it 
would be a lot of fuss to move your trunks simply for 
twenty-four hours.” 

Patricia dumbly acquiesced by a nod of the head. He 
was so eager for her society, this bridegroom of hers ! 
would he have called it “ a lot of fuss,” a few short weeks 
ago, to have moved a whole houseful of furniture, if it 
meant he should have her companionship ! However, 
it was undoubtedly different when a man knew a 


120 


PATRICIA. 


woman was his forever. Of what use to climb the 
tree to pluck the plum when it was ready to fall for 
you. She was now at Tom’s disposal forevermore. 
He had no need to plead for her society or to exert 
himself to obtain it. She was his — to take or to leave — 
to caress or neglect — to worship or worry — as it suited 
him. She was the woman — dependent — at the mercy 
of his caprices ; he, the man, — independent and free. 
For her, there were limitations — he knew none. If life 
did not run smoothly at home, he could go out into 
the world and make merry ; but for her, there were 
narrow boundaries, within which she must dutifully 
remain. 

She supposed that when there were so many days 
that they would be together, one day should not count ; 
still, it did seem to her, that a day at the other end 
of those days, would be less hard to spare. And then 
to leave her all alone in this big hotel ! 

She sighed deeply. Honora looked up from the piles 
of raiment she was half-buried among beside her trunks. 

“ What is it, dear ? ” 

Patricia gave a little mirthless laugh, comically shrug- 
ging her shoulders. 

“ Oh, a lot of things ! I am not a very festive bride, 
am I ? But I have trouble, — so many kinds of trouble,” . 
dolorously. “ I suppose if there weren’t so many, 
though, I never should bear up.” 


PATRICIA. 


I2I 


“Yes, it is better to have a number of woes,” agreed 
Honora ; “ they sort of balance each other.” 

“ That is it ; I feel like the little donkey with his 
paniers,” Patsy went on. “ If the weight were all on 
one side, why, over he’d go ! My sorrows are so 
beautifully balanced I escape toppling over ; but they 
are very heavy to bear, all the same ! ” 

“ Please enumerate them,” requested Honora. “ I 
may be able to take a few away.” 

“ Well, the first is that you are taking away,” 

said Patsy in a very grieved tone. 

“ It’s good of you to miss me, dear, before I am 
gone ; but I am satisfied that you’ll not miss me a bit 
when I have actually departed. Tom is twice as good 
a companion as I. He has travelled more, read more, 
and is not cursed with nerves and moods. I feel very 
sure he will make you happy.” 

“ I don’t think he’s trying veiy hard,” pouted Patsy, 
“ leaving me here, while he stays at the club ! ” 

“ What a contradictory young person you are ! ” 
laughed Honora. “ Here you tell me one minute that 
you are lamenting my departure, and the next you are 
kicking at having to remain with me the few hours I 
have to stay.” 

“You know very well, Honora, it’s not that,” indig- 
nantly protested Patricia. “ I zvanted to stay with you 
every minute you were here, and I would have liked 


122 


PATRICIA. 


to have asked Tom to let me, only I never should 
have proposed it, for fear of hurting his feelings ; but 
he very calmly suggests it, without caring a rap about 
my feelings ! It isn’t that I care a bit about being 
where Tom is — I’d really rather be here — a great deal 
rather,” as Honora smiled, incredulously, “ only as 
long as Tm his wife, I don’t think it’s very polite 
to me ! Husbands don’t usually dump their brides 
down in one place, and run off to some other as if the 
devil were after them.” 

Patricia paused for want of breath, and Honora did 
not attempt to conceal her amusement. 

“ Oh, Patsy ! ” she laughed, “ it must have been very 
funny ! I’ve never seen Tom sprint ! Did he run all 
the way from here to the club ? And it’s uphill, too ! 
Were you looking out the window ? ” 

Oh, well! You can laugh at me, I suppose ; but 
you can’t convince me that Tom starts out in a very 
devoted manner.” 

“ I believe I should appreciate it that he didn’t,” 
said Honora. “ The men who remain their wives’ 
lovers for long are not often to be found. I would 
prefer a man to start out in just the gait he could con- 
tinue. Then you know exactly what to expect. 
When a man places you in Paradise one day, and hell 
the next, it’s very wearing to the nerves. And the 
variety of man who starts in all protestations and 


PATRICIA. 


. 125 


fervor, and gradually cools down till you are in fear 
of being bitten by the frost in his society, is not a very 
desirable sort of husband, either. Now, with Tom, 
you know exactly where to find him. He just loafs 
along the even tenor of his way. He will be just the 
same ten years from now as he is to-day — always 
courteous to you ; ready to take your part against the 
whole world, if need be ; not especially demonstrative, 
but very tender in his deportment toward you ; and 
always careful of les convenances ; you need never fear 
that he will introduce his mistress to you, or borrow 
your jewels for her adornment.” 

“ His mistress ! ” exclaimed Patricia. 

“ These things will occur in the best regulated of 
families,” said Honora. 

“ I should leave him at once ! ” said Patricia. 

“Yes, dear; of course. That is what every woman 
says — and seldom does ! ” 

“ Do you suppose that I would tolerate, for one 
moment ” 

“ We will suppose, in the first place,” smiled Honora, 
“ that you would probably never know.” 

“ I could not fail to know ! ” said Patricia. 

“ It is something you do not wish to watch for,” 
said Honora. 

“ Why not ? ” demanded Patricia. 

“ A suspicious wife often drives her husband away 


124 


PATRICIA. 


from her. She makes home miserable with her suspicions 
and jealousies till he ceases to come home. Tempta- 
tion presents itself — and he argues that he might as 
well ‘ have the game as the name.’ ” 

“ But if I haven’t driven him to it, and he is untrue 
to me ” 

“ Never let the thought cross your mind, unless you 
are confronted by absolute proof. Refuse to harbor 
suspicion that may be undeserved. Be above petty 
doubts. It is Barrie, I think, who says, ^ To doubt is 
to dip love in the mire ’ and nothing is truer, dear. 
Just so soon as you begin to question his fidelity, just 
so soon you have begun your descent into a valley 
from which it is difficult to ascend again. One drop 
of doubt poisons all. There may be ninety-nine in- 
dications of his guilt, but there is one blessed chance 
left that his explanation will sweep them all away.” 

“ And a man who could not explain a thing would 
be no man at all,” Patsy dryly remarked. 

“ They usually do fairly well in that line,” Honora 
admitted. 

“ But if I knew, beyond any denying, that Tom 
was not true to me, then you grant I would be quite 
right to go ? ” 

“ If you could,” said Honora. 

If I could? 

“Sometimes a woman loves a man too dearly to 


PATRICIA. 125 

leave him, even then ! She had rather be the least 
something to him than riothing. It is the Newfound- 
land dog in some natures.” 

“ /am not like that,” said Patricia, proudly. 

“ Again, the man pleads extenuating circumstances, 
promises better behavior, swears that he only forgot 
her for the moment, and loves no one as he does her.” 

“ The woman he preferred for the moment might 
have him,” said Patricia, he could not return to me / ” 
“ Then there is the woman who would suffer a 
thousand humiliations rather than take the world into 
her confidence. She is too proud to have it known 
that she must share her husband. She would aid and 
abet him in concealing it. ‘ Only spare me publicity,’ 
she implores him, ‘ and I will be deaf, dumb and 
blind.’ She appears in public with him, occupies the 
same sleeping apartments with him — lest the servants 
chatter — is daily crucified, and makes no moan.” 

“/will suffer for no man like that,” said Patricia 
scornfully. “ I would not endure it for a day.” 

“And what do you think you would do?” asked 
Honora, in a mildly amused tone. 

“Just one of two things,” said Patricia quietly, 
“kill him — or kill myself ! ” 

Honora grew serious. She left her trunks and came 
gravely over to where Patricia was sitting, and sat 
down close beside her, 


126 


PATRICIA. 


“ Dear,” she said, very tenderly, “ we never can tell 
what kind of trouble may come, but if any unhappi- 
ness should ever come to you, something that you 
cannot go to Tom about, I want you to find out when 
the next steamer is sailing, and come directly to 
France.” 

“ I might not have enough money,” said Patsy ; “ a 
revolver would be cheaper than a passage to Paris ! ” 

^‘You shall always have money,” replied Honora. 
“ I do not know what allowance Tom can make you, 
but you shall have something of your own besides. 
About the tenth of every month a check will reach 
you that you are to spend in whatever way you please ; 
but I make one stipulation, that you put away a 
part of it each month, so that if anything unpleasant 
occurred you would have by you sufficient to bring 
you to me. No, you are not to shake your head in 
that uncivil fashion. I shall feel very much snubbed 
if you refuse to accept it.” 

But, dear Honora, I surely shall not need it ; 
you are too good to me.” 

“ Not a bit of it! I confess to you I have a selfish 
motive, besides the pleasure it will give me to do some- 
thing for you — it will also save me from a lot of worry. 
It is a great safeguard to a woman to know that she 
has some one ready to rescue her if she is in trouble ; 
but it is not of much use if that sorne one is a great 


PATRICIA. 


127 


way off and she is without the wherewithal to get 
there ! I do not intend to leave you in any such pre- 
dicament, dear. I want you never to be without money 
of your own, and I want you to feel that you may 
always, at any time, come to me, knowing that you 
will be welcomed. I won’t promise not to scold you, 
if you have been foolish ; but there is nothing I would 
refuse to do for you, Patsy dear. I have to leave you ; 
but do not feel that, because I am absent, I have in 
any sense deserted you.” 

‘‘You are so good and kind! You do so much for 
me ! When can I ever do anything for you? ” 

“ Every day you can do something for me, ” 
answered Honora. “ Put all my precautions in con- 
tempt — be happy y 

“You ask something very difficult ! ” 

“ Oh, you only wished to do something easy for me ! ” 
“Indeed, the harder the better; but you ask the 
impossible it seems to me ! If you said, ‘ Be happy 
some days ’ — but every day — one never could ! ” 

“ It takes time ; but when you can meet your 
troubles half-way and greet them with stoicism, in- 
stead of waiting for them to crush yoii^ you have won 
the biggest battle. The very first lesson is to learn 
to forget yourself. To forget to sulk when the whole 
world does not bow down to you. To forget to pam- 
per and pity yourself. Men are selfish — they can’t 


128 


PATRICIA. 


help it, poor things, they were born so ! Tom will do 
a lot of kind things for you when it is right in his way, 
and then at other times, will be dreadfully disappoint- 
ing. All you can do is to make the best of it. You 
can mope in a corner and tell yourself what a poor op- 
pressed creature you are, if that is the best you can do, 
but it’s the very poorest sort of way to find happiness. 
It is better to put on your bonnet and go out into the 
sunshine, and breathe the fresh sweet air till you 
could not be glum if you tried. Take long walks when 
you are moody, they are a splendid cure ; physical 
fatigue you will find is a capital offset for mental dis- 
quietude.” 

‘‘You command me to be happy,” said Patricia, 
sadly, “ and yet speak as though you were sure I would 
not be.” 

“Just at first I fear you may not be quite happy, 
because I fancy you will expect too much, and I am 
trying to warn you against it. So often the young 
wife forgets that the masculine half of the family is 
entitled to have his own way, now and then, without 
being judged a brute ; that he, also, has a right to in- 
dividual tastes ; and that nothing will send a man out 
of the house sooner than a frowning face. Marriage 
is either a sacrament or a sacrilege ; I want yours 
to be above bickerings ; your love to be so broad 
that your husband will never come nigh the rough 


PATRICIA. 


129 


edges ; so deep that he may never suspect the dregs. 
You have promised to love and to cherish and to honor 
him, and however he may keep his part of the. bar- 
gain, keep j/ou to the very soul of your vow.” 

I will try^' said Patricia, earnestly. 

Honora took the sober little face lovingly in her 
strong hands and kissed her lingeringly. 

“ I am 'sad to leave you, dear,” she said. 

“ Do you feel a foreboding ? ” asked Patsy in an 
awed tone. 

“ Oh, no ” said Honora, trying to assume a cheerful- 
ness, “ it is only the shadow of parting, which has fallen 
upon me.” 

“ I feel, Honora,” Patsy said slowly, with her eyes 
staring strangely far away, and shivering a little as she 
spoke, “ that we are never to meet again ! ” 

“ I have been speaking too solemnly,” said Honora, 
“ I have depressed you with such a serious sermon. 
Now you are to forget it all and scamper to bed. You 
are not to think of a thing but your wedding journey 
till you fall asleep, then your dreams will be happy 
ones ; and now I must go back to my trunks. It is 
late.” 

Patricia rose, as though half in a trance, her eyes 
fixed sombrely on Honora’s face. “ I wonder if it will 
be you or I,” she said gravely. 

“ Nonsense! ” said Honora. “ We shall be supping 


130 PATRICIA. 

together in Paris before the year is out. You do not 
think we will be apt to quarrel do you ? ” stooping to 
kiss he.r once more. 

“ No, it will not be that,” said Patricia. “ Good- 
night.” 


PATRICIA.. 


I3I 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ Who Is called on to show his rags to the public, and cry out his 
hunger in the street ? ” 

Honora had gone. Annette and Patricia were mak- 
ing a tour of the shops. Tom, accompanied by Mr. 
Thorn, had gone down to the Equitable Building, to 
inform his attorneys of his marriage and to make suit- 
able provision for Patricia, in the event of accident to 
himself. 

“ I don’t see why you couldn’t have done it decently,” 
growled old Mr. Frelinghuysen, who had had charge of 
the Pell estates for many years, and felt privileged to 
speak his mind to the young man. 

“ It is a perfectly legal marriage, is it not ?” serenely 
inquired Tom. 

Certainly, sir. That is why I see no sense to it, 
sir. If you are going to marry a woman, marry her 
out and above board, — not as though you were ashamed 
of the performance. It is a poor-spirited woman would 
consent to it.” 

“ Mrs. Pell and myself somehow considered it our 


132 


PATRICIA. 


privilege to be married in whatever way we pleased,’’ 
said Tom, haughtily. “ Moreover, it is our preference 
that the marriage should not be announced — at pres- 
ent.” 

“ Eh ? ” said the old solicitor, sharply. “ Is it a run- 
away affair, Thomas? ” 

“ In a sense — yes. My wife’s parents have not been 
informed ; but Miss Herrick, with whom Mrs. Pell 
has been passing the summer, witnessed the ceremony 
and gave her away. Mrs. Pell is not on pleasant terms 
with her people.” 

“ Who are\i^x people ? ” gruffly. 

“ Her father is the Reverend Philip Allan.” 

“ Never heard of him ! ” snorted Mr. Frelinghuy- 
sen. 

“ You surprise me,” said Tom. “ With your exten- 
sive acquaintance among the clergy ” 

“ Where does he preach ? ” interrupted the irate old 
gentleman. 

“ In a small town in Massachusetts called Schuyler- 
ville.” 

“ So, sir ! ” said Mr. Frelinghuysen, rubbing his 
hands together excitedly, “ you have married the 
daughter of an obscure country clergyman — a young 
woman in disgrace with her people — who was a sort of 
companion to some woman I dare say you know noth- 
ing about ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


133 


“ I hardly care to continue this unpleasant discus- 
sion, sir. I regret my marriage should so offend you. 
I called, however, to request you to draw my will, Mr. 
Frelinghuysen, and if you could conveniently attend 
to it to-day, it would be a service to me, as we start on 
a trip through Canada to-morrow. I have here a list 
of a few special legacies I wish to leave, and all the 
^ rest, residue and remainder ’ is tc5 be given to my 
wife, Patricia Allan Pell. I would like her to be co- 
executor with yourself, — both to serve without bonds. 
Could the document be ready about two? ” 

“ It can, sir,” said Mr. Frelinghuysen, rising. 

“ I want to stop in, downstairs, to see the Equitable 
Company about a life insurance policy, look in on 
some of my old friends in Wall Street, and then I am 
returning here to lunch at the Lawyers’ Club, with 
Thorn. Will be in again near two, I should say ; 
good-morning.” 

“ Good-morning, sir,” mumbled Mr. Frelinghuysen. 

Meanwhile, Annette was plying Patricia with ques- 
tions. Had she been ill ? She looked very pale. Why 
had she left her last letter unanswered ? Was she go- 
ing on immediately to Schuylerville, or should she stop 
a few days with her aunt ? She hoped she was going to 
stay over. Sunday was her leisure day, and Saturday 
she was not very busy, for all her Sunday “ stuff ” 


134 


PATRICIA. 


went to press on Friday ; she could devote almost two 
days to Patsy if she were to be in town. 

All of which was very embarrassing to poor Patricia, 
who stumbled through her answers as best she could. 
It was true she had not been well ; expecting to see 
Annette so soon, she had not written ; she was not 
staying with her aunt, for her aunt was in Europe ; 
and she was not going to Schuylerville — she was bound 
for Quebec, and up the St. Lawrence, with — some rel- 
atives. If she returned by way of New York she 
would then come to see Annette, but more likely they 
would go directly to Boston from Montreal. 

“ What a very jolly trip,” said Annette. Well, Patsy 
must be sure to write to her, and she hoped she would 
arrange to come back through New York. Now, what 
did she want to buy ? She would devote two hours to 
Patricia and could take her just where she wanted to 
go — and as she knew all the shops like a book, she 
could promise to guide her aright. A card-case first ? 
they would find that at Gorham’s ; and from there it 
was only a couple of blocks across town to Altman’s 
for lifigerie, 

Annette found herself rather aghast at Patricia’s 
purchases. She would only be satisfied with a card- 
case rimmed with gold. The lingerie must be of 
French make, of sheer lawn and real lace, and she 
wanted plenty of it. Then, not one, but several pair§ 


PATRICIA. 135 

of Fasso corsets must he had. She liked them in thin 
batistes, with posies embroidered all over them, and 
there must be petticoats to match. One must be of 
pale blue, strewn with daisies ; forget-me-nots on a 
black ground, for another ; and on cream-color she 
would like yellow rose-buds, if they were not in stock, 
why, order them done ! And now for some hats and 
dresses. ^ 

“Have you been robbing a bank, Patricia?” in- 
quired Annette, at last, “ or did your long-lost uncle 
die in Australia and leave you a gold mine or two ? ” 
Patsy laughed happily. “Annette dear, I have a 
thousand dollars ! Honora gave it to me, this morning 
— ten one hundred dollar bills — just think of it ! I never 
saw so much money before in all my life ! ” 

“ How lovely and generous of her,” said Annette. 
“ But, dear Patsy, at this rate, you’ll have nothing left.” 

“ What do I want to have anything left for ? She 
told me to spend it for anything I liked, and to be sure 
to buy a lot of pretty clothes. She said she had meant 
to send me some from Paris, but with the duties, and 
all, it wouldn’t be worth while, when I could get such 
pretty French things here.” 

“ But things just a little less expensive, Patsy, would 
do quite as well for Schuylerville, and it would be nice 
to have a little left for your winter wardrobe — the 
summer is about over, you know,” 


136 


PATRICIA. 


“ But I’m not going to Schuylerville, Annette, I’m 
going to Canada.” 

“ Well, you surely don’t need all^ these fine things 
for Canada ; you’ll find all the women up there in the 
dowdiest duds; anything will do for there! Now, 
I’ll tell you, keep a hundred dollars in your purse, and 
we’ll go up to my bank and deposit the rest. I will 
introduce you 1 ” 

“ Well, I guess not ! ” said Patsy. “ Why won’t you 
please let me enjoy the very first money I’ve ever had? 
I don’t want to lock it up in an old bank 1 ” 

‘‘ It’s your money, dear, and I’m only suggest- 
ing ; but you never can tell what might happen ; 
when a few hundred dollars might be your very 
salvation ; death and disaster come unawares. If 
you needed these things that would be different ; 
but you don’t need them a bit, so it seems to 
me it would be wisest to put some of your money 
away, before you are tempted to spend every dollar 
about you.” 

“ Please, Miss Annette Fay,” said Patricia good- 
humoredly, “ let me judge what I need and what I 
don’t ! I am really more familiar with my wardrobe 
than you are. I have some very pretty things, it is 
true, which dear Honora gave me ; but the more 
pretty things one has, the more one wants, don’t you 
know ! When you have a pretty frock you must have 


PATRICIA. 


137 


a pretty hat to go with it, and having the hat and the 
frock, there must be gloves and shoes in keeping ; and 
when these are obtained, you would not be content in 
ugly underwear, and one thing leads on to another. 
As to foregoing present pleasures to avoid possible 
predicament in the far-away future, I don’t see the use 
of that a bit ; my friends would never let me starve ! 
Either you or Honora would give me a crust of bread, 
if I asked you very prettily ! ” 

“ My dear, the best friend in the world is a bank^ 
a good trustworthy national bank. It is all very well to 
have friends who are too fond of you to let you starve, 
and who would gladly make you a loan, but a good 
sound bank, that will cash your checks, is the most 
valuable friend you can find.” 

I think it must be rather grand to write your name 
on a check! However, I think I’ll wait. I’m not half 
through my shopping yet, Annette, and I must also 
have some money for Canada you know. I’ll talk to 
you about it later on. Now where is Madame Tierce’s ; 
I want some pretty hats, and then take me to the best 
place for men’s ties.” 

The hats and the ties were bought ; they lunched at 
Delmonico’s, and then Annette announced that she 
must go. 

“ Oh, but first I want to buy something for you^* 
said Patricia. 


138 


PATRICIA. 


“ Indeed you shall not ; ” said Annette, “ nottill you 
have a bank account ! 

Patricia pouted. “ Really, Fll be very miserable if 
you won’t let me give you some little thing.” 

I am sorry to make you miserable, but not till you 
have a bank account as big as mine can you spend a 
penny on me.” 

“ Very well, then, I shall bring you something from 
Quebec.” 

“ 1 hope you will come back through New York. I 
want to show you my little garret den,” said Annette. 
“ I call it the Rookery. It is three big rooms, at the 
top of an old-fashioned house, furnished with queer old 
things, from auction shops. Everything there required 
some saving to get, so it is all the dearer to me. I 
don’t often ask people to stop with me, I’m such a 
busy thing, but I’d be very glad to have you, Patsy, if 
you could put up with my being away early and late. 
You could have the run of the place — with the excep- 
tion of my writing-room — and I’d do my best to make 
you comfortable.” 

“ Thank you, dear. I’ll write you from Quebec. 
Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, and a jolly journey to you.” 

Patsy went listlessly homeward. How hard it had 
been to keep up a chatter with Annette, when she 
longed to break down and tell her the whole wretched 


PATRICIA. 


139 


story. How lonely it would be with Honora gone ! 
Even throwing money to the dogs had not been so 
diverting as she had fancied it would be, and she had 
shocked Annette by her extravagance. But what did 
any thing matter ! She was evidently born to be a 
shocking person, and why wrestle with fate ! 


M 


PATRICIA, 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ Never bear more than one kind of trouble at a time. Some people 
bear three kinds, all they have had, all they have now, and all they ex- 
pect to have.” — Edward Everett Hale. 

Patricia had had breakfast served in her room, and 
now was regarding dismally the multiplicity of her 
possessions. 

“ However Tm to get them all into two trunks,” she 
lamented, ‘‘ I’m sure I do not know. Simply I don’t 
believe they’ll ever go in at all — and I can’t carry 
frocks over my arm to the train. I had better go 
down town, right now, and get a portmanteau, one of 
those jolly big leather affairs, like Honora’s, that will 
hold a thousand things or so. There’s no need of 
hurrying about packing, anyhow, for I’ve the whole 
long day for it, with Tom not coming for me till half- 
past five, and I might see some other things to buy ! 
I’ve only spent two hundred, so far, and the rest is burn- 
ing a hole in that sweet little purse Honora gave it to me 
in ! My wedding gifts were certainly very lovely, if they 
were so few ! — all those big bills from Honora, in a dear 
little white seal purse, the beautiful pearl necklace from 


PATRICIA. 


I4I 

Tom that had been his mother’s, and the queer old 
cluster diamond ring that she had worn, and this col- 
lection of love-stories from Mr. Thorn — six volumes of 
them — all about love in different countries — ‘ Grazu 
ella^ ‘ Maricy — come in,” to a tap at the door. 

A hall-boy entered, and handed her a long narrow 
box, labelled “ Thorley”. Within were some long- 
stemmed roses and a little nosegay of violets, tied with 
a ribbon to match the leaves. On top lay Tom’s 
card — with the words “ Good-morning ” inscribed upon 
it. 

“ Well, he’s rather nice,” said Patsy. ‘‘ I like this 
very much.” Then, critically, studying the card — “ Why 
didn’t he say ‘ With my undying love,’ or ‘ Sweets to the 
sweet,’ — oh, no, that’s for candy ; — but he might have 
said, ‘There are only two things sweet, women and roses’ 
— that is a pretty sentiment ; I saw it lettered on a rose- 
jar once.” ‘ Good-mornmg ! ’ Why, the veriest stranger 
might say that ! He at least ought to have said, ‘ To 
my darling, precious Patsy ! ’ — ‘ Good-morning ! ’ how 
very commonplace ! 1 wonder if Tom is commonplace ! 

Heigho ! There I go picking him to pieces, and 
Honora would just scold me, if she could hear ! She 
said men were privileged beings — that it was we women 
who must have the patience and the charity, and be 
brave and long-suffering. That the question was not 
how they treated us, but whether we loved them enough 


142 


PATRICIA. 


to take them as we found them and put up with their 
bushel of shortcomings. If a woman found she did 
not love her husband enough to put up with his fail- 
ings — or if he gave her serious grounds for complaint 
— she should have sense enough to leave him ; but so 
long as she remained by his side, she must cover him 
with the mantle of charity and harbor him in the inner 
recesses of her heart. 

“ But suppose a man kicks, in the ‘ inner recesses,’ and 
wants to be let out ! Honora would make a veritable 
baby of a man, I do believe — and one would never 
dream she had so much sentiment hidden anywhere 
about her. Now I shall treat Tom just as he treats me. 
What he puts into the scales on his side. I’ll balance him 
with on mine. There’ll be no ‘ accept-me-for-a-carpet, 
mister — I was put here for you to tread upon ’ — 
not at all ! When he’s good, I’ll be good ; and when 
he isn’t, I shall be just like the girl that had a litlte 
curl that hung in the middle of her forehead.” 

Thereupon, being now arrayed in a neat little 
checked silk costume, a black toque trimmed with dan- 
delions upon her dainty head, Mrs. Pell abandoned her 
very serious soliloquy, and tripped away to look for a 
portmanteau. 

A stage came rattling down the avenue as she left 
the hotel, and she ran to catch it at the corner. A 
stage-ride was a real novelty. The driver loosed the 


PATRICIA. 


143 


strap of the door a little way, and she managed to 
squeeze herself through the tiny aperture he permitted 
her. It was very solemn within. The stage made such 
a din no one attempted talking. The seats were full, 
and some people standing up had to stoop, not to hit 
their hats on the roof of the carriage. A man rose and 
gave her his seat, another took her fare to the box. A 
small messenger-boy raced after the coach and leaped 
up on the step behind, ducking his head low behind 
the door whenever the driver peered about. And 
everyone smiled. No one censured him. When some 
one would get out he would jump off and run along on 
the sidewalk, till he could mount again, unobserved by 
the man on the box. 

“ I suppose if he were hungry,” thought Patricia, 
and stole a crust of bread he would go to jail, but 
his very impudence in stealing a five-cent ride, in sight 
of every one, makes them forget that he is really a bad 
little boy, and not a soul reproves him. Yes, I really 
think the audacious get on better in this world than 
the meek ones. The man who plunders right and left, 
and runs away, has it said, ‘ At least, he was clever ! ’ 
Was it Voltaire — or what old French sinner was it? 
said there were three things that could be depended 
upon to conquer, and they were ‘ audacity, audacity, 
and more audacity;’ — and yet here is Honora, telling 
me the only way to get on in the world is to cultivate 


144 


PATRICIA. 


/ 

/ 


meekness and a lowly spirit ! — Ah ! there are some 
trunks and things ! — Let me see, you push the door or 
pull the strap to get out of this trap. Well! they cer- 
tainly waste no time in leaving you ! ” — For just as 
Patsy got both feet upon the step, on went the stage, 
jouncing her off into the roadway. 

She crossed Madison Square and went into a shop 
beneath the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where she invested in, 
not only a portmanteau, but several other travelling 
appurtenances, and then walked slowly up Broadway, 
peering into the windows. Some collarettes at Starr’s 
attracted her admiration — one was of blue velvet with 
an antique buckle set with pearls. “ That is just what 
I want ! ” she exclaimed enthusiastically, running up the 
steps. A salesman met her at the door. “ I will take 
the blue collar in the window,” she told him, “ the one 
with the pearl pin.” 

The man brought it to her, and consulted the tag. 

“ $900,” he read. 

Oh ! ” gasped Patricia, “ then I don't want it.” 

The clerk smiled. “We have others less expensive, 
from up. How do you like this, at $15 ?” 

Patricia liked it very much, and selected three, at 
this figure, with enamelled clasps of odd designs on 
different-hued ribbons. 

Wandering down the length of the store, she saw 
another door, and leaving that way, found herself in 


PATRICIA. 145 

Fifth Avenue ; and only a step away she came to a 
house that bore the sign, Redfern. 

Redfern ! that magic name ! The wonderful place 
that the fashion-writers were always quoting. She had 
read the name, with awe, again and again, but never 
upon a waist tape ! And now, she could go there and 
buy just what she pleased, with such a little fortune 
in her pocket ! She would buy a frock or two, at the 
very least ! So opportune that she had come that way ! 
What ! No gowns ready made ! How disappointing ! 
No, she could not order something, for she was going 
away that very day to Canada. Yes, she had a fall coat. 
A cape ? she didn’t like capes ; oh, but yes, that one by 
the window — she would like to try it on. 

It was certainly a most captivating little cape, or 
perhaps I should say capes, for it was double, the top 
one reaching to the shoulders, and the lower one to the 
waist, both very full, and rippling all around. The 
color was a golden brown, and it was braided all about 
the edge with white and gold cord, and lined with rich 
white satin. 

“ Do you think,” she said shyly, that it would be 
too showy for a — for a bride ? ” 

Indeed, it was simply very swell for a bride, the 
saleswoman smilingly told her ; it was the smartest 
thing they had made up that season, and very new in 
style. 


146 


PATRICIA. 


Patricia carried away the cape ; no, she would not 
have it sent, it might not come in time ; — she w^uld 
carry it across her arm, and — she wouldn’t min^ the 
label showing ! 

“ Well ! ” she exclaimed, upon reaching her room 
again, “ it was very lucky I went after that portman- 
teau, or I wouldn’t have had all these pretty things. 
$200 more is missing from my store, but my ! what a 
lot there is left ! ... It seems to me that there are 
more things lying about here than ever. I wonder if I 
really shouldn’t have purchased another trunk ! It 
would be such a bother if I still hadn’t enough room 
for everything ! ” 

Mr. Pell had his luggage all ready for departure, and 
sat in the Club window awaiting the hour when he 
should go for Patricia. There was a cigar in his 
mouth, and something in a long tumbler beside him, 
that was just a shade too yellow to be Croton water. 

He had not slept well the night before, and felt 
rather fatigued in consequence. A number of thoughts 
had occupied his mind upon retiring, to the disadvan- 
tage of sleep. So it was not a dream, or a farce, 
or a mere possibility — it was a real fact that he 
had actually married Patricia, he refleHed, as he lay 
down upon his pillow. And why? How did it hap- 
pen? Oh, yes — he recalled — Honora had asked it — he 


PATRICIA. 


14; 

did it to please Honora ! No, that wasn’t quite true, 
he did it, hanged if he knew why he did it ! He 
just did it, and that was all there was about it, so far 
as he could fathom ! 

And it was a marriage not to be announced, a queer 
little marriage with no one present, in the private 
parlor of a hotel ! No wedding guests, no merriment, 
— precious little feasting ; only words, and a ring and 
one lone witness. It had been Honora’s plan, and he 
had assented. Patricia, he could see, was not quite 
contented with the ceremony, and Mr. Frelinghuysen 
thought him a sneak. After all, had it really been a 
wise thing to marry Patricia, and had it been best to 
keep her with him ? She might be better off in 
France. 

Honora had been much entertained when he told 
her he should not let Patsy go away. Truly, he must 
be in love with Patricia, she had said, and a man in 
love with his own wife was certainly a curiosity. They 
would be wanting to exhibit him at Huber’s, and do 
him in wax for the Musee ! 

But Honora was a good sort ! No one could be 
better company when she hadn’t some whim up her 
sleeve. And he had been entertained, in turn, when 
she had lectured him upon the proper treatment of 
Patricia. 

She is very young, you must remember, “ she hac} 


148 


PATRICIA. 


said ; “ younger from being brought up out o 
world. There is so very much she does not kno;(^.” 

“ Contrary to your highness,” he had murmuybd. 

“ And she is so very sensitive,” Honora had con- 
tinued, “ it would break her heart if you bullied her. 
The laborer beats his wife ; — she binds up het wounds, 
and, when they have healed, forgets them. The more 
cultured man, when the devil is in him, lashes his wife 
with cutting words that scar far worse than the labor- 
er’s blows. They sink into her heart, and will not be 
obliterated. Dear Tommo, it is such a serious thing 
to have taken a woman for better or worse — it is such 
a sacred vow. And Patsy is such a lonely little creat- 
ure ; when I am gone, she has only you, in all the 
country. She has given herself to you — trustingly ; 
do deserve her trust. She may, some days, have whims 
and tempers, it is one of our foolish feminine ways 
which we are very sorry for, indeed, afterwards ; but 
if she is not as amiable, on every occasion as you re- 
quire, be patient — explain to her how she is not quite 
fair. You, too, have faults, which she must bear. 
Patsy loves you more dearly than you half know ; 
but just at first you may not understand each other — 
there are the shoals and the rocks to learn before the 
ship of matrimony sails smoothly on its way — and it 
takes a little time to learn the chart. Somehow, I feel 
incurably sad at parting from you and Patsy, but I 


PATRICIA. 


149 


want you to feel, Tom, that I am the very firm friend 
of you both. If you do not treat Patsy well, I shall 
scold you, that is sure ; and if she neglects you, a 
scolding for her is in store. You are both too nice not 
to be fully appreciated.” 

“ And if we do not get on,” he had said, “ I myself 
will do a little sharp talking. I shall blame only you ! ” 

“ If that day comes,” she had earnestly said, “ I want 
to assure you that you will always find me ready and 
willing to care for Patsy, in France.” 

Again these conversations repeated themselves to 
Mr. Pell’s memory as he watched the passers-by, from 
the vantage of his club window. 

I believe I may be trusted to treat a woman prop- 
erly,” he mused, as he roused himself to consult his 
watch and order a cab, “ but I can’t stand tempers ! 
Women’s huffs play the very deuce with my 
nerves. There are to be no tantrums indulged in by 
Mrs. Pell. She will tant just once with me, and the 
sooner she has learned this lesson the smoother our 
pathway will be ! ” 

From all of which this moral may be deduced — • 
that, train up a child in the way it should go, and when 
it grows up, it will — go it. 


50 


PATRICIA. 



CHAPTER XV. 

“ Eve was made from Adam’s bone. Not from his head that she 
should tower about him, nor from his feet that he might trample upon 
her ; but from his side that they should be equal ; from under his arm, 
that he might protect her ; from beside his heart, that he should yearn 
for her.” 

Very fortunately Tom arrived at the Waldorf some- 
what before the appointed hour. The boy who had 
taken his card up to “ Miss Allan ” came back to say 
the lady was not quite ready and wanted him to come 
upstairs. It is something about the luggage, sir,” the 
boy said. 

Tom looked at his watch, made a few uncompli- 
mentary remarks about the unpunctuality of women, 
sotto voce and ascended to Patricia’s apartment. 

Patsy, in tears, occupied the centre of the floor, 
where she sat disconsolate, while two chambermaids 
and a porter struggled to close a trunk — the cham- 
bermaids being perched upon the top while the 
porter tugged perspiringly away at the latch of the 
lock. 

“ Oh, Tom ! ” said Patsy, “ we are discouraged ! You 



PATRICIA. 


15I 

see the things won’t all go in — some have^^?/ to come 
out, and I’ve nothing else to put them in. What will 
we do ? ” 

“How did you get them here ? ” impatiently in- 
quired Mr. Pell. “ If you got your things into your 
trunks in Chicago, I don’t see why they shouldn’t 
go in now ! ” 

“ Oh, but you see there are more things than then. 
Honora bought me some and I bought some — and — 
there seem to be a great many more than I ever 
dreamed there were.” 

“ It seems to me it might have occurred to you to 
get another trunk.” 

“ Why, Tommy, I did. That is — a portmanteau. 
I was sure it would hold everything, but it wont.*' 

“I’ll have to take out a dress, miss ! ” exclaimed 
the porter, quite breathless with exertion. 

“ All right ; toss it out — if it really cant be helped,” 
said Patsy, gloomily. 

“ My dear child ! ” thundered Tom, glancing around 
the room, “ are we to take all this truck about with 
us ? Why, good God ! we’d need a special baggage- 
car, and it would take them an entire day to search 
us at the customs ! ” 

“ Why, Tom ! ” said Patsy, tearfully, “ what could I 
do ? I can’t throw my things away ! Where will I put 
them except to take them with me ? ” 


152 


PATRICIA. 


“You can stop getting more things at the tag end, 
of the season, can’t you ? ” impatiently. 

The return of the porter interrupted a reply. 

“ I don’t think everything will go on the cab, sir ! ” 

“Of course it won’t,” said Tom crossly. “Get 
another cab and put all the stuff here in it, and have 
the man go to the New York Central Station — wait 
there till I come. Now what do you want to do with 
that frock on the floor ? ” to Patricia. 

“ I want to take it,” she sniffed. 

“ Can’t you give it to the chambermaid ? ” 

“ Give her my beautiful new Eton suit ! ” gasped 
Patsy in alarm. “ Why, of course I can’t ! She’s gone 
for some paper, now, and we’ll do it up into just as 
small a bundle as ever we can ! ” 

Mr. Pell sank into a chair. 

“What are all those other things?” he inquired 
feebly. 

“ Why, there’s my satchel,” in a very injured tone, 
“ with my night-dress in it, and all that ; and a bundle 
of books to read on the train — I got them down- 
stairs at the book-stand (there’s a very nice man 
there who picked them all out for me) ; and then, I 
got a little basket of fruit, we might want it, you 
know ; — and a basket of bottles — that’s all ; — oh, ex- 
cept this little tiny bandbox with my Tierce bonnet in 
it — I couldnt put that in the trunk, you know, Tom, 


PATRICIA. 


153 


for it might get crushed ; it’s just flowers and chiffon 
and — lace — the most beautiful thing ! It would be 
mashed as flat as a pancake in that crowded trunk, 
dear ! ” 

“ And how do you propose to carry them ? ” 

“ Oh, that is quite easy — (thank you, Maria, that 
looks very small, we can handle that very nicely in- 
deed) — the boys here will take them down to the 
carriage, and the porter at the station will put them in 
the train, and another porter will take them to the 
carriage in Montreal, and boys will carry them in at 
the Windsor — we’ll not have to put a finger on them 
the whole way. Then in Montreal, of course. I’ll buy 
a bigger trunk ! ” 

A bundle the size of a dress-suit case ; another 
bundle not quite so large (but weighing considerably 
more, I fancy), said to contain books ; a bandbox ; a 
satchel ; a small basket of fruit, and a waste-basket with 
paper tied over the top, filled with God-knows-what ! ” 
enumerated Tom, with an air of abject despair. Pa- 
tricia, what is in that big basket with the paper top ? ” 
“ Oh, those are our bottles, dear,” explained Patricia. 

Bottles ! Do you mean to say you are carting 
along a lot of wine? ” 

“ Oh, no indeed ; bottles of all sorts of things that we’ll 
need when we get away from civilization — that is, we 
may need them — we can’t tell whether they have any 


154 


PATRICIA. 


apothecary shops way off in that wilderness up the 
Saguenay and we might get sick, we can’t know ; so 
I’ve provided everything for an emergency.” 

Tom picked up the basket and savagely tore off the 
cover. Mustard leaves, courtplaster, arnica, lint — com- 
prised the top layer. 

“ Pond’s Extract ! What is that for?” 

“ It is very good for burns,” said Patricia, meekly. 

“Arnica? ” 

“ It takes the soreness out of bruises.” 

Toothache drops, Jamaica ginger, vaseline, cold 
cream, rose-water, powdered charcoal, mucilage, ink, 
beef extract, violet toilet water — all rolled in tissue- 
paper and tied up with string, he pulled out of the 
basket, his wrath increasing with every fresh find. 

“ Do we drink ink for a sore throat, or paint bruises 
with mucilage ? ” he demanded. 

“ They might not have good ink at the hotels, and 
sometimes mucilage is very handy,” said Patsy, choking 
back the tears. 

“Well, we’ll leave all this trash, with our compli- 
ments, to the Hotel Waldorf! ” 

“ Oh ! It seems wicked to waste them.” 

“ I don’t care a damn what it seems,” Mr. Pell tersely 
remarked, “ simply, they don’t go.” 

“ Very well,” said Patsy, pityingly, “ when there 
comes a day that you would give the world if you had 


PATRICIA. 155 

them, you will be sorry you would not take a little 
trouble to take them along.” 

** When my time comes to die, I expect to die,” said 
Tom, “ and I’m not going about the globe with an 
apothecary shop on my back, to try to defeat the pro- 
gramme of the Almighty. That basket and those bottles 
with the fruit and the books may remain right there 
on that table, for the chambermaid, or the porter, or 
the trash barrel, — I don’t care a sou marquie which ; 
the bundle containing your frock I will have sent by 
express to Quebec, also the bandbox — which shall be 
labelled ‘ Handle with care' The satchel we will carry. 
That rather reduces things to a pleasanter plane. Are 
you ready ? ” 

Must I leave the books ? ” 

Yes, you must leave the books ; there is a purveyor 
of literature on the train, and also a vendor of peaches 
and pears. Shall we start ? We are a little short for 
time — and I must stop at the office to give the order 
about the express.” 

Patsy gave a sorowful glance backward, as she 
followed Tom out the door. She longed to rush back 
and seize the prized bottles and books. 

“I wouldn’t mind about the fruit,” she said to her- 
self, “although I selected those big plums especially 
for Tom ; but I devoted so much time to thinking up 
those things in the bottles, and I was an hour deciding 


PATRICIA. 


156 

upon the books ; it seems so inconsiderate ! Oh, in- 
deed men are selfish — and, cruel — and rude ! " 

Tom had just touched the elevator bell, when Patricia 
suddenly turned and rushed back toward the room. 
‘‘ Go on ! I will join you downstairs,” she called back, 
“ I have forgotten something.” 

“ What did you forget ? ” Tom asked, as he put her 
in the carriage. 

“ An umbrella and three parasols,” she replied. 

“ Where are they? ” 

“ I gave them away,” she replied serenely. “If the 
Almighty intends it to rain upon me, undoubtedly I 
would be guilty of irreverence to put a cover over my 
head, and as to a little sunburn, if that also is the will 
of Heaven ” 

“ That will do,” said Tom, quietly, but peremp- 
torily. 

Patricia smiled, and looked out of the open window. 
Tom stared solemnly from his. They did not speak 
all the way to the station, nor even after they had gone 
aboard the train. There was no dining-car on, but Tom 
ordered supper from the buffet. The newsboy came 
along, and Mr. Pell invested in Life and Vogue for 
Patricia and a copy of Town for himself. Patricia 

accepted the papers listlessly, without deigning him 
a glance, and turned the pages carelessly, not even 
pretending to read. Tom, for his part, read the same 


PATRICIA. 157 

page for some fifteen minutes, without knowing a word 
he had seen. 

He had a very guilty feeling, somehow. He had 
been impatient with poor little Patsy ; he had been 
atrociously uncivil to the one woman in the world to 
whom he should never fail to be courteous! He 
wondered if she felt very sad, but felt a diffidence 
about inquiring. Honora had begged him to be 
patient with Patricia, and this was his behavior at the 
very outset ! He tossed the paper aside and looked 
across at his girl-wife. 

“Yes,’' said Patricia to herself, “this is a honey- 
moon! This is being a bride ! It is thus we commence 
our wedding-journey ! It is indeed very festive and 
joyful ! ” 

A little tear stole down the side of her cheek. Tom 
saw it, with contrition. He rose from his chair and 
closed the door of their drawing-room, and, returning, 
took Patsy in his arms. 

“ I am a brute, sweetheart, and a bear ! ” he peni- 
tently exclaimed. “ I don’t deserve a wife at all ! I 
am very sorry I have been so churlish to you, dear. 
You see a man does abominate anything in the shape 
of a bundle of any sort. Why, I wouldn’t carry a neck- 
tie home ! and that fearful array you set before me 
just flabbergasted me ! I felt like wringing your neck 
dear ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


158 

Patricia laughed, rather forlornly. 

“ I really might have been more polite about it, I 
think ! ” he went on. 

“You couldn’t have been less so,” she pouted, while 
her eyes looked reproachfully into his. 

“ I couldnt have been less so,” he reiterated. “ I feel 
awfully ashamed. What can I do to get forgiven ?” 

“Just be kind to me,” she said, gently. “Oh, 
Tommo,” she continued, her arms tight about his neck, 
“ I want to be a good wife to you ! If I make mis- 
takes, won’t you try to be kind about them ? I will 
not mean to do wrong, I want to do only the right 
things, but I do not know very much! I’m just a 
stupid little thing I I supposed I was very thoughtful, 
and that you would be so pleased with my basket of 
bottles, and you see I made the biggest sort of a mis- 
take. You see I don’t know the right things — yet ; I 
will learn ! ” 

“ Poor little pet ! I ought to be kicked round the 
block. You shall buy your bottles in Montreal, and I’ll 
carry them, myself, all over Canada ! ” 

“ No,” said Patsy, laughing, “ I see, now, that I was 
a goose 1 ” 

Tom kissed her very tenderly. 

“ Let us make a contract to have a lot of patience 
with each other,” he said. 

Very well ; will we write it out and sign it ? ” 


PATRICIA. 


159 


^‘Yes,” said Tom, smiling, “we’ll write it out at 
the hotel, to-morrow, sign it and seal it, and each carry 
a copy ! ” 

After supper they played bezique, leaning across 
the table between each deal to lovingly kiss one 
another. 

Patsy’s eyes beamed into Tom’s, radiant with ten- 
derness. Her heart beat fast with happiness. 

After all, what a dear world it was ! 


i6o 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ So, for awhile they were happy, these two, and even fancied they 
were to be happy forever ; but it was merely the madness with which 
the gods cursed them, before they should stretch out their hands and 
smite.”— G wendolen Overton. 

The early wanderings of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Pell 
through Canada were not eventful. They left the 
train, first, at Lachine, — breakfasting there upon that 
finest fish afloat, the delicious muskallonge, — and then 
‘‘shot the rapids” into Montreal — an excursion de- 
scribed by Patricia as “ thrilling,” and declared “ a 
fake ” by Tom. 

In Montreal they visited churches and convents, and 
followed the daily procession of carriages up the moun- 
tain drive, patronizing the small bazar at the top. 
They went, one early morning, to the old Bonsecours 
Market, where ladies of all degrees assemble to select 
the day’s joint and superintend its 'weighing. They 
made a little tour of the fur-shops, where garments 
were to be had for a song, and were so badly cut and 
made that “ a song ” was liberal payment. 

And all things went happily. 


PATRICIA. 


l6l 


Patricia was enjoying every hour of this new life — 
this pleasant peep into a new world ; and Tom, who 
abominated “tourist tricks,” found himself poking 
about to all sorts of places he had not the least desire 
to behold, because of Patricia’s simple, unaffected de- 
light and ardent appreciation. Her happiness shed 
its sunshine upon him. He became a boy, for the mo- 
ment, and when they went for the day to St. Helen s 
Island, they wandered about, hand in hand, like two 
little playmates out a-pleasuring. 

It was in Quebec that a little fleck floated across this 
serene sky — quaint, queer old Quebec, with its incom- 
parable charm. Patsy declared she should never be 
willing to leave ! No vehicle ever was so comfortable 
as the crazy old cal^ches^ with their jolly little jog, as 
they tumbled down the long, steep hills — never really 
jouncing one hard, or being the least fatiguing, she 
would have told you. She explored the Lower City 
from end to end, and never tired of it ; dragged Tom 
to the Fort, took long drives on the St. Louis Road — 
and was only discontent that she knew no one to ask 
her in to one of the fine, old-fashioned mansions that 
one got a glimpse of through the trees on either side. 
The hotel where they were staying displeased her a 
little from being brand new, but except that there was 
no Turkish salon, she declared it to be as beautiful as 
the Waldorf, and Tom himself admitted that the 

II 


PATRICIA. 


162 

Chateau Frontenac, was not so bad a place — for 
Canada ; admired, with Patricia, its massive structure 
and fine stone turrets ; and enjoyed their evening 
promenades on Dufferin Terrace, where all Quebec 
seemed to assemble when the weather was fair. 

“ I was rather doubtful about what sort of inns we 
would find in this land,” he told Patsy, “ but now I 
am reassured. We won’t find as large houses up the 
river, but I imagine they will know how to feed us — 
they cannot fail to give us good fish, with the river full 
of them, so we will be sure to get on.” 

Tom left the smoking-room one morning, where a 
casual acquaintance had been making his life miserable 
by haranguing upon the tariff — for which Tom did not 
care a picayune — in rather an irritable humor. He 
decided his liver had again gone wrong. (That poor 
liver of Tom’s ! It seemed to be a sort of closet, fitted 
with pegs of all sorts and sizes, upon which he was 
wont to hang every sin and shortcoming.) He would 
go and look up Patsy, and they would take a drive to 
the Falls of Montmorenci — the fresh September air 
would liven him up. But no Patsy was to be found ! 
She was not in her rooms, nor on the terrace, nor at 
the hotel book-stall, nor at any of the places where she 
was usually to be found. Most extraordinary! Tom 
searched the parlors and looked into the near shops — 
but all to no avail. When an hour, and then two, 


PATRICIA. 


163 

went by and still no Patsy, Tom’s liver grew very bad. 
He was most indignant that she should leave the house 
without telling him, and this long absence was un- 
pardonable. How did she know but he might worry? 
Hang it all, he should worry if she did not come 
soon. 

But it was after their usual lunch-hour before she 
appeared — driving up to the door in a caleche with a 
fine smile upon her face and a big basket of fruit be- 
side her. Tom stood twirling his moustache in the 
doorway, and scowling very savagely as she tripped up 
the steps. 

“ Have you been lonesome ? ” she asked serenely. 

“ Where have you been ? ” Tom demanded. 

“ Well, I don’t really quite know,” she said, smil- 
ingly, “ it was somewhere way up the St. Louis Road. 
It got very dull, all alone, so I went for a walk, and 
I met a man — a nice old man, you know, and he saw I 
was a stranger, and he invited me to his house.” 

“ For God’s sake, Patsy ! ” exclaimed Tom, excitedly, 
“ don’t you know better than to go prowling about a 
strange city alone ! You see in what unpleasant situa- 
tions you are apt to land ! ” 

“ But, Tom, it wasn’t unpleasant,” said Patsy blandly, 
I had a very good time.” 

“ You don’t mean you talked to this impudent scoun- 
drel ? ” 


164 


PATRICIA. 


“ Talked to him ! — why, of course I did — the whole 
morning.’* 

“ Where ? ” 

“ At his house.” 

You went to his house !” 

“ How beautiful you are when you are angry,” said 
Patsy, contemplatively. “Your face gets very white 
and your eyes gleam like a tiger’s — you look like a 
Roman emperor ! But there is nothing to be angry 
about ! ” 

“ Nothing to be angry about, — that my wife makes 
acquaintance with strange men on the street and goes 
to visit them at their homes ! ” fumed Tom. 

“ Please say man and home — it was only one man 
and one home — and he was a dear old gentleman with 
silvery hair, and he lives in one of those big square 
houses I wanted to see, on the St. Louis Road, and 
he has a wife with silvery corkscrew curls, who gave 
me all this fruit, and the house is lovely ^ with unexpected 
rooms on half-stories that you never would find if you 
weren’t told they were there ; and at the back of the 
house is the biggest sort of a garden, where everything 
that ever grew is planted ! ” and Patsy paused for want 
of breath. 

“ I don’t care if it was Methuselah and his wife,” 
said Tom, “ and if they dwell in a marble palace ; I 
simply will not have you going about alone, nor mak- 


PATRICIA. 


165 

ing chance acquaintances. You might fall in with the 
very worst sort of people ; — that you did not, this time, 
was simply sheer luck.” 

Patricia’s countenance clouded. 

I am not a baby, Tom,” she said. ** I know a gen- 
tleman from a tramp.” 

“ You may know a gentleman from a tramp, but you 
cannot always detect a villain when he wears a gentle- 
man’s garb and manner. I’m thinking.” 

“ I don’t see what you want to spoil it all for,” said 
Patsy, dolefully. “ I had such a lovely time, and so 
much to tell you, and now you’re so cross it’s all 
spoiled.” 

“ Well, understand, please, that you are not to go 
out of the house again, except on the Terrace here, 
without informing me,” said Tom, airily. 

Patricia started across the hall to the elevator, 
without deigning any reply. 

“ Will you be down immediately ? ” he asked, over- 
taking her. 

“No.” 

“ It is the luncheon hour, you are aware? ” 

“ I do not wish any lunch.” 

“ I must insist upon your eating some.” 

Patricia stepped into the elevator without reply. 
Tom followed. 

“ Now, look here, Patricia,” he said, as they went 


PATRICIA. 


1 66 

into their rooms, “ we will have an understanding, 
right now. Do you, or do you not, intend to obey 
me?” 

“ I do not,” she answered, angrily. 

“Then the sooner we part the better,” in a fine 
temper. 

“ As you like. I have never been ordered about by 
any one — and I will not take orders from you. If you 
asked me not to do a thing, I would probably do as you 
ask, but Til not be commanded by any one living — 
especially in so absurd a way ! I have done nothing 
for you to find fault with,” said Patsy in a rage. 

“ We do not agree as to that.” 

“ Very well ; as you say, it is better to part.” 

“ I do not say it is better to part if you will show 
me proper deference ” 

“ Well, I won’t ! ” said Patricia, with much spirit. 
“ I’m not going to school to you, and you are not my 
clergyman ; — I am your wife, on an equal plane with 
you, not to be patronized or bullied, but to be treated 
Avith the same respect you exact from me. So, if it is 
your notion that you are a superior sort of being 
whom I must bow down before, you might as well 
know I will do nothing of the sort. I prefer to pack 
my trunks and leave you and — I will go at once.” 

Tom looked at his watch. 

“You will have to endure my society fora few hours 


PATRICIA. 


167 

longer,” he said ; there seems to be no train leaving 
just now. I am sorry you decide as you do. I think 
you make a mistake. It is a wife’s place to consult her 
husband in all things and obey his word. I believe you 
promised to do something of the sort when we were 
married.” 

“ One has to say it,” said Patricia furiously ; “ but 
only the most despotic man would take advantage of 
words that are a mere form.” 

“ And you consider our marriage vows a mere waste 
of words ? I thought so myself, at the time ! ” 

Patricia grew pale to the very lips, and swayed as if 
about to fall. 

“ Patsy, I beg your pardon,” said Tom, contritely, 
leading her to a chair. “ I am sorry ! I did not mean 
it.” 

I want to go away,” said Patricia, plaintively, “ I 
want to go away.” 

Tom came to her and led her to a chair. 

“ I am very sorry I spoke so discourteously,” he said, 
stiffly. “You shall go if you wish ; but I prefer you 
shall wait until to-morrow. We have both been angry, 
and said things we did not mean. Do not let us part 
in such a way. To-morrow we can talk the matter 
over calmly, and if then you wish to go, I will not 
oppose you. Will you drive with me out to the Mont- 
morenci Falls this afternoon?” 


i68 


PATRICIA. 


No, I think not.'’ 

Very well. I will return before dinner.” 

When he had closed the door, she threw herself upon 
the bed in a torrent of tears. A dainty lunch, ordered 
by Tom, came up to her, but she sent it away almost 
untouched, — a benefit to the stomach of the young 
man who served her. 

And so this was the end of it all — the end of the 
honeymoon — the happy holiday! This was Tom’s 
love 1 Already he regretted ! 

She dressed herself carefully for dinner in the little 
Dresden silk in which she had been married. Tom was 
ostentatiously civil. He ordered her favorite Bur- 
gundy, told her about his drive to the falls, and con- 
scientiously strove to interest her. She answered him 
quietly, even gently, but always indifferently — and 
looking the other way. 

He stayed below stairs after dinner, while she went 
to her room and read the romance of Quebec, “ The 
Golden Dog.” That is she tried to read, but the at- 
tempt was not so successful as to keep her up long — 
and after she went to bed she had cried a little. 

Tom smoked awhile and visited the bar, and smoked 
some more, and returned to the bar, and finally went 
upstairs, much out of sorts. He had done his best to 
be amiable, he felt, and Patsy would have none of it. 
He was sorry he had been disagreeable in the morning, 


i^ATRlClA. 169 

but hadn’t she worried him to death ! And then his 
liver was in a bad way ! 

Patsy feigned slumber when he lay down beside her. 
Memories of the summer gone floated in to her memory. 
The dinners at Old Vienna, the long evenings on the 
lagoon, the cruise of the Mariquita — ! The hot tears 
welled up into her eyes. 

Tom was roused by her stifled sobbing, just as he 
was falling asleep. 

“ What under the sun is the matter now, Patricia? ” 
he demanded, impatiently. 

“ I do — not — know,” said Patricia, tearfully. 

Well, do stop it, till you know,” he said irritably, 

or dam it up till morning. It is devilish annoying to 
be waked up out of a sound slumber with the bed 
shaking like a ship at sea ! ” 

Patricia buried her face deep in the pillows where no 
sound could be heard, but the bed was jarred, now and 
then, by the violence of her emotion. 

“ Good Heavens ! ” exclaimed Tom, “ will you stop 
shaking the bed ? ” 

A little sniveling sound was the only reply. 

Tom turned his back to her, and soon after was 
breathing heavily, but Patricia cried on. 

Stop shaking the bed,” he muttered once again, and 
then a long-drawn snore informed her that she and her 
tears and her griefs were forgotten ! 


170 


PATRICIA. 


“ Oh,” she moaned, “ if he had only kissed me, and 
put his arms about me, and promised to be kinder to 
me ! But the only thing he cared for was not to be 
disturbed — it did not matter to him a bit if he broke 
my heart ; the only thing he cared for was a chance to 
sleep — and snore ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


i;i 


CHAPTER XVIL 

“ Can any new experience in any life be merely temporary, leaving no 
result behind it ? I doubt it.” — D. M. Craik. 

Of course they made it all up, just as they did many 
another mad moment. Each awoke penitent — each 
apologized — each forgave. Patsy said it was all l:ci- 
silly nerves, and Tom laid the blame on his liver — and 
when it is recalled how feeble a portion of his anatomy 
Mr. Pell had always asserted this poor liver to be, it is 
amazing what burdens he considered it able to endure. 

He was sorry he had been cross about Patsy’s call 
upon the perfectly proper gentleman with the silvery 
hair and the vast vegetable garden ; but he had been 
so worried over her unusual absence, and that — (com- 
bined with his liver) ! 

And Patsy had duly declared herself a sinner not to 
have told Tom she was leaving the hotel for a prome- 
nade ; but really, she had never thought of being 
away many minutes — it was only a few blocks she 
had meant to go — and then the lovely old gentleman, 
with the lovely old mansion, had appeared, and Tom 


1/2 


PATRICIA. 


knew how she had longed to see the interior of one of 
those big, fine dwellings — and she had thought it no 
harm to go — if it was wrong, she was sorry. 

And Tom had kissed her and said it had been no 
harm at all, he was ashamed to have made a mountain 
out of a mole-hill ; but he must admit he thought it 
rather unkind of her to have that abominable crying 
spell just as he was falling into a very pleasant slumber 
— would it often occur ? 

“ Oh, no ! never again,” said Patsy. She had been 
moping all the afternoon, and felt so very sorry for 
herself she could no longer restrain the tears. Tom 
could have no idea how badly her nerves behaved at 
times — she simply lost all control of herself, and could 
not be rational if she tried. 

And Tom sympathized ; it must be as bad to have 
nerves, he admitted, as to be possessed of one of those 
infernal internals called a liver ! 

And so this fierce little flame, that had threatened 
to consume them, burned itself out, and the smoke 
thereof scattered away ; but smoke smuts, and just 
enough of the soot descended upon them to leave a 
little mark — a dark, ugly mark — in the memory — a 
smear that even Time might not obliterate ! 

It was their last day in Quebec before starting on 
their tour to the North, and they devoted it to the old 
curiosity shops in the Lower City, picking up quaint 


PATRICIA. 


173 


souvenirs to carry away, and climbing break-neck 
stairs, for the last time, in the true tourist spirit of 
adventure. 

Then came their departure for Roberval, two hun- 
dred miles to the north, which they reached by a day’s 
journey on the railway. 

Returning, we go to Chicoutimi, and there get the 
Saguenay steamer,” said Tom, studying an assortment 
of folders. “We will make stops at Tadousac, Ca- 
couna, and Riviere du Loup. We may remain some 
time at Tadousac ; they tell me there’s a very good 
hotel at the place, beautiful scenery, and air — the very 
elixir of existence! ” 

“ Then, there’s Murray Bay,” said Patricia. 

“ We will skip Murray Bay,” said Tom. “ I know 
some English people who are stopping there.” 

“ I should think we would not skip Murray Bay, 
then, that you would like to see them 1 ” 

“ You forget that it might be awkward to explain 
you ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Patsy, with an odd little intonation. 

“ I would hardly wish my marriage announced in 
England before I had had the courtesy to inform my 
relatives, you know.” 

“ And suppose we did meet some one — what would 
you allow them to think me ? ” 

“ I would allow them to think you a casual acquaint- 


174 


PATRICIA. 


ance — if I could ; seeing two people about a hotel, 
together, does not necessarily argue that they are occu- 
pying one apartment.’* 

“ But if your friends consulted the register? ” 

I really don’t see how I could avoid introducing 
you in that event.” 

‘‘ But you would be sorry to ! ” 

“ I should be sorry to ! ” 

Why did you marry me ? ” 

“ To make you happy, I hope.” 

‘‘ Your own happiness did not enter into the ques- 
tion?” 

“ My dear Lady Patricia, there is only one train a 
day to Roberval, and that is leaving in just fifteen 
minutes, do you care to be aboard ? ” 

Patricia pinned on her smart little travelling toque^ 
tossed her cape over her arm, and followed Tom out to 
the porte coMre, where their favorite cal'^che, driven 
by one Bill Sullivan, awaited them. There were tears 
in her eyes, but she dashed them away, and wished 
she could dash away as easily the hurt in her heart. 
To be a wife — yet not a wife — was not the sweetest 
situation in the world ! Must it be so, forever^ she 
wondered. Were her faults so much greater than his 
that he felt ashamed to acknowledge her? Why does 
a woman always idealize the man she loves, she ques- 
tioned, while the man subjects the woman he pro- 


PATRICIA. 175 

fesses to adore to “ keen, critical dissection ? ” The 
woman looks upon her lover’s virtues with the small 
end of the opera glass before her eye ; but if his faults 
become visible, she whirls the glass about. Man re- 
verses the process — magnifying the woman’s faults, and 
accepting her virtues with a grain of doubt. He has 
no sympathy with her weaknesses — they are blemishes 
to him, while a man’s very faults often endear him to 
the woman who loves him. There is a strain of mother- 
love in us all ; we would have our arms big and strong, 
and our heart brave, to encompass and shield and en- 
courage one who is dear. 

Patricia was not very talkative this morning, her 
head was filled with these puzzling problems — but Tom 
ignored her silence and told her of the places they were 
about to visit. How Roberval was nearly two-thirds 
of the distance from New York to Hudson’s Bay, on the 
shores of the Lake St. John, and only very recently 
accessible. 

“ About two years ago, dear,” he told her, “ you 
could only reach Roberval by a birch bark-canoe, or 
by a narrow pathway blazed through the woods by the 
Indians. There was nothing there but an Indian set- 
tlement, the Hudson Bay trading-post, and a river full 
of fish. Then the railway was extended to Roberval, 
and an enterprising American put up a summer hotel, 
and Canadians and Americans are flocking there to 


PATRICIA. 


176 

catch the ouananiche. I fancy it must be a very 
primitive place, but if it is too bad to be endurable we 
can go on to Chicoutimi, and if that is likewise im- 
possible, it is but a few hours to Tadousac. 

“ Tadousac ! Tadousac ! ” how often they were told 
of its beauties. To all discomforts they buoyed up 
one another with the promised Tadousac! This was 
tedious, or that was more than bad, but never mind, 
they were nearing Tadgusac ! That was their Mecca, 
their Carcassonne ! There they would find all that was 
good ; they would feed their starving stomachs and 
rest upon beds of down — at Tadousac ! 

It was a tedious trip to Roberval. The train lagged 
along through the flat, uninhabited country, seldom 
stopping, and seeming to appreciate that the entire 
track was at its disposal. At noon they stopped at a 
small station for lunch — a repast neither Patsy nor Tom 
were able to entertain the thought of eating, the prin- 
cipal elements of the edibles being onions, garlic, and 
grease. 

Dear, dear!” said Patsy, “why didn’t we bring a 
lunch from the Frontenac!” 

“ I wish you had thought of it,” lamented Tom. 

“ But you should have thought of it. You know so 
much more about travelling than I.” 

“ Are we going to fight about it ? ” asked Tom. “ I 
am sorry you must go hungry till night, but if you think 


PATRICIA. 177 

of devouring me, perhaps I had better remove myself 
to the smoker ! ” 

Patsy put her hand over upon his. 

“ Thank you/’ she said. “ I was just going to be 
cross. I am glad you stopped me, but it is depress- 
ing to be hungry ! ” 

Suppose we play bezique,” suggested Tom, it 
may take our thoughts away from our suffering 
stomachs.” 

Yes, that would be better than playing Kilkenny 
cats — 

“ ‘ There were once two cats of Kilkenny, 

And each thought there was one cat too many, 

So they fought and they fit, 

And they scratched and they bit. 

Till, except for their nails. 

And the tips of their tails. 

Instead of two cats there weren’t any,’ ” 

quoted Patricia, with an attempt at gayety. And all 
the afternoon she did her best to be companionable ; 
she no longer sulked or complained, though her head 
was splitting and her heart very heavy. She played 
bezique, and related amusing anecdotes of life in 
Schuylerville, and the last half of the journey passed 
much more pleasantly than the first. 

The Roberval Hotel is a not unattractive wooden 
structure, with small closets, called rooms, neatly and 
ascetically furnished. There is a music-ropmj a billiard^ 

X2 


1/8 


PATRICIA. 


room, a bowling-alley, and a bar, so you see it is some- 
thing pretentious. The bowling-alleys, to be sure, ha 
some peculiar slants at one side, or the other, so y(ju 
could not be too confident where your ball would ar- 
rive ; and the cloth on the billiard-tables had an 
occasional puncture ; but as nearly every one came to 
fish, these small defects in amusement devices were 
overlooked and forgiven. As for the bar, well, if you 
wanted a mixed drink, it was well to prepare it yourself, 
else you got a mixture that only the throat of a sala- 
mander could conquer ! 

In the grounds about was a tennis-court and a 
croquet-ground ; and in a pen, at the back of the 
house, were two cunning baby bears, caught in the 
forests near, whom every one fed and teased and 
romped with, till the poor little things were half dead 
with fatigue and dyspepsia. 

I like it,’’ said Patsy the first night, when appetite 
transformed the simple dinner into a banquet, and 
weariness made any bed a luxurious resting spot. 

“ There is nothing to eat here, but ouananiche,” she 
declared the second day ; “ however, those are very 
good, so we need not complain yet.” 

I am tired of ouananiche,” she announced on the 
third morning, “ and I am black and blue from sleeping 
on the bricks I suspect my mattress has been stuffed 
with ; let us go away, I am glad we came, you knew. 


PATRICIA. 179 

for I like to see it all, but I will also be glad to 
go ! ” 

“ And you have seen enough 

“ Why, we have seen everything here, I think ; the 
village, the Indians, the trading-post, and the church ; 
have helped supply the table with ouananiche, and 
served as assistant-bartenders ! There is no more to 
see or do ! ” 

“ Then we will push on toward Tadousac,” said 
Tom. will engage our sleeper, and then teach you 
how to manage a cue.” 

The journey from Roberval to Chicoutimi occupies 
about three hours by rail. The train leaves soon after 
six in the evening, the exact moment depending upon 
when the conductor completes his evening meal. 

Arriving at Chicoutimi, those passengers who are 
going further remain over night in the sleeping-car, 
going aboard the Saguenay steamer, in the morning, 
in season for breakfast. The sleeping-car berths arc 
said to be preferable to the beds at the Chicoutimi inn, 
but Patsy would argue that question. She always in- 
sisted there could be nothing worse than the shelf she 
tried to slumber on in the train. 

The passengers hurried down the hill from the 
Roberval Hotel, as the hour for leaving came. The 
car was well filled, others besides Tom and Patricia 
having eaten their fill of ouananiche. The engineer 


PATRICIA. 


i8o 

was in his cab, and the baggage all aboard, but there 
was no sign of starting. The men grew restless and 
strolled out upon the platform, while the women won- 
dered with each other why they did not go. 

“ Are we waiting for anything ? ” asked Tom. 

“ The conductor,” said the man. 

“ And when will he come? ” 

“ When he likes,” said the brakeman. 

But just then the conductor appeared in view, saun- 
tering over the crest of the hill, nonchalantly puffing 
away at a blackened clay-pipe ; and when he had ar- 
rived he stood about the platform with no apparent 
intention of starting. 

“ Why h’in ’ell don’t you start your train, my mon? ” 
demanded an irate old Englishman. 

“ We are awaiting Mr. X.,” civilly replied the con- 
ductor, removing the pipe from his mouth, to more 
conveniently empty it of saliva. 

“ An’ ’oo h’in the davil may Mr. H'ex be ? ” inquired 
the first speaker. 

“ He is the superintendent of the road,” said the man, 
with a pitying smile for the old man’s ignorance. 

“ Then, h’it h’is h’a dom shame ’e carnot set h’a 
better Ji exarmple ! ” blustered the Englishman, and 
stalked back to the train in disgust. 

But Mr. X. came; the conductor swung his lantern, 
the bell rang and the whistle blew, and away they 


PATRICIA. 


i8i 


started to Chicoutimi at not much past the hour of 
seven ; and, as Tom complacently argued, since it was 
the only train upon the track, and since they had the 
whole night to stay in the station at the other end, 
what did it really matter how long they were de- 
layed at this end of the route. For his part he would as 
soon start at midnight. 

“ But that would not suit, perhaps, the people who 
want to stay at Chicoutimi, or stop off at intermediate 
points,’' said Patsy, “ and if we had known we were to 
start so late we could have played another string of 
billiards, you know ! I must write Honora how profi- 
cient I have become. I don’t believe she could make 
a run , of five, do you ? ” 

“ Only Slosson or Shaefer could play against you, 
dear,” smiled Tom. 

H’its h’a dom quare way for h’a troffic monoger to 
cut h’up,” growled the old Englishman, in front of 
them, “ ’e’d soon lose ’is job ’ad h’l the say! ” 

Patricia smiled sympathetically, and Tom found the 
old fellow sufficiently amusing to enter into some con- 
versation with him ; he, too, it seemed, was bound for 
Tadousac. 

There’s nothing like h’it, sir, h’in h’all Canada, 
h’l’m told ; h’it’s h’a perfect h’Eden, h’l’ve ’card, h’all 
h’along ! ” 

Patsy did not complain that night that her mattress 


i 82 


PATRICIA. 


was stuffed with bricks, but she did mention to Tom 
that she thought it had no stuffing at all. 

She did not rest well, and awoke at daylight. 
Horrors ! how close and stifling the car seemed. She 
would dress and get out into the air, and see how 
Chicoutimi looked in the early morning. So she 
hurried into her clothes and tip-toed down to the door, 
not to wake the other sleepers. And the door was 
locked ! She retraced her steps to the other end. 
There was no escape — both doors were fastened, and 
there was no conductor within to unlock them. 

She sat down disconsolate in an empty section. Oh, 
but this was not pleasant at all ! She was very hungry 
too, for they had dined early at Roberval the night 
before to be at the train in season. 

Well, there was nothing to do but endure it. This 
journeying in Canada had its discomforts — but they 
were over the worst now, for would they not, that very 
day^ dine in Tadousac ! 


PATRICIA, 


183 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“To the old, sorrow is sorrow ; to the young, sorrow is despair.” 

Patricia had a chance to remain hungry for some 
time, as the boat was late, and it was nearly noon 
before it arrived. Their fellow-traveller, the English- 
man, informed them that breakfast at the Chicoutimi 
Inn was a meal “ ha dog couldn’t h’anny ’ow h’eat ; ” 
so they made their morning meal on fruit and whisky 
— (the former bought from a small boy at the station, 
and the liquid found in Tom’s flask) — then started to 
explore the town — a town of poor little wooden hovels, 
some with only one room to live in, but with pict- 
uresque vines clambering over the rough boards, and 
with neatly-kept gardens within the small enclosures. 
And in the midst of it all, perched high on a hill, was a 
church. Tom and Patsy wandered in. 

“ Oh ! ” said Patricia, standing amazed upon the thres- 
hold, “ how beautiful it is ! ” 

For on the walls were paintings of extraordinary 
beauty ; exquisitely carved images stood in the chancel ; 
illuminated texts and a silver font added to the mag- 


84 


PATRICIA. 


nificence everywhere apparent, and the altar cloth was 
rich with gold. 

“ It is wicked,” said Patricia, indignantly. 

“ Wicked? ” said Tom, in a puzzled tone. 

“ Yes, positively repeated Patricia. “ Here 

are these poor, ignorant people, evidently struggling 
for existence, saving every possible cent they can spare 
to build a splendid church and support a lazy priest ! 
What a horrible God they believe in ! One who would 
have them go naked and hungry to build a monument 
to His glory ! ” 

“ I have seen so much of this across the water it 
did not impress me. They are a superstitious people 
— the peasantry of all nations — and I presume the 
belief in sins expiated by sacrifice goes a long way to 
comfort them for their empty stomachs and ragged 
backs. And many of the priests are not lazy, dear, 
they have a hard life — there are the dead to bury, the 
living to marry, the children to teach, daily services to 
conduct. Among the poor priesthood is no sinecure.” 

“ I’ll warrant they don’t go hungry,” said Patricia. 

I don’t see how they can escape it,” laughed Tom, 
“ in this land of famine. I know I haven’t had a 
square meal since I left Quebec. If you think the 
priests have something, dear, let us go and beg for a 
bite.” 

I really believe you would have the face to do it,” 


PATRICIA. 


185 


said Patsy, but luckily you will not have the occasion, 
for there is the steamer in sight. I’ll race you for it 
down the hill.” 

But Tom had not lost all sense of dignity, even if he 
had been something of a boy for the past few weeks, 
so he ignored the invitation, and leisurely followed 
Patsy’s flying feet. 

She arrived, breathless, at the wharf, just as the pas- 
sengers who had come north were disembarking, and 
sat down upon a barrel-head till Tom should come. 
There were the usual lot of tourists crowding up the 
pier, not many of them of any especial interest. A 
man with five daughters, all with chignons of enormous 
size, and necks the length of a stork's, came by in a flock 
together, with a pompous-looking mother bringing up 
the rear. They had just passed her when she heard 
Tom’s voice in its most dignified drawl. “ Why, my 
dear Lady Rivington,” he was saying, whatever are 
you doing in this remote land?” 

There was a chorus of ‘‘ Miss-ttr Pell ! ” and a 
bedlam of interrogations as to however he arrived in 
these northern wilds. Then followed mutual explana- 
tions — the Rivingtons were taking the round trip on 
the river, simply an excursion. They were not stop- 
ping over anywhere — no — the boat stayed an hour in 
every place, which gave them time to see the towns, 
and they had heard the hotels were so bad they were 


86 


PATRICIA. 


not risking their digestions by stopping in them. Tom 
then related that he was trying to atone for his former 
neglect of the continent he was born upon by “ doing 
the whole place,” and, wishing to be original, he had 
begun at the top — not every fellow knew enough to 
start there — and, so far as he could see, they were wise ; 
he expected a better time lower down in the Amer- 
ican universe ! 

Patsy learned from the conversation that the Papa 
was Sir Thomas, and that one of the young ladies was 
named Blanche, and another Beatrice — both names 
being pronounced with a French accent — or rather, I 
should say, the names were Gallicised, with an English 
accent. 

The barrel-head was getting very hard, and her back 
was weary sitting so uncompromisingly upright, but 
Patsy felt glued to the spot. The young ladies bridled 
and simpered and blushed. Sir Thomas seemed over- 
poweringly glad to see his friend Pell, and Lady 
Rivington proposed that he show them the town 
“ We have wasted half our time talking with you,” she 
said, “ and now you owe it to us to show us about.” 

Tom glanced at Patricia sitting on the bulkhead. 
She was staring at him with gloomy eyes. Then he 
turned and walked up the pier with Lady Rivington, 
Sir Thomas and his daughters following after. 

Patricia watched them climb the hill, then slowly 


PATRICIA. 187 

arose and went aboard the boat, where she asked at 
the purser’s office for a stateroom, registering “ Mrs. 
Thomas Pell, New York.” 

Tom cursed himself for a cowardly cad all the way 
up the hill to the church. But they had come upon 
him so unexpectedly, he argued, that he was at a loss 
what to do. Now it would be more awkward than 
ever to present an unheard-of Mrs. Pell. Yet here 
they all were, bound to travel on the same boat for 
several hours ; hang it, but it was a damned awkward 
position ! He wished to the good Lord the Riving- 
tons were in Jerusalem or Patricia in Jericho ! But he 
discoursed learnedly upon the church and the convent 
— discussed annexation with Sir Thomas and the 
deserving poor with Lady Rivington ; pressed the 
hand of Miss Beatrice as he helped her over a 
stile, causing a soft rose-shade to suffuse her sallow 
countenance, and told one of the smaller girls anec- 
dotes about the baby bears at Roberval ; and after 
what seemed about the longest hour of his life, they 
were at the wharf again and aboard the steamer. 

And from one end to the other he searched for 
Patsy, after seating the Rivingtons upon deck ; — 
from stern to keel he hunted — and all in vain. The 
steamer had started, so he could not go back to look 
for her in the village, — where he began to fear she had 
stayed. Deuce take the little fool ! Did she suppose 


m 


t>AtRICtA. 


she was going to tie him down to her apron-strings ! 
Was his liberty just a yard long! Did she think she 
could girdle him with a chain, and yank him this way 
and that I Because he had been consummate ass enough 
to marry her had he not a right to promenade with his 
friends? Well, he’d mighty well take the nonsense 
out of her I He would let her understand, once and 
forever, that he should always conduct himself exactly 
as he saw fit, and when his actions were not agreeable 
to her, she had the very simple remedy of a short 
residence in Dakota, — and freedom forevermore. 

Meanwhile, his stomach was fast growing to his back, 
and instead of searching for Patsy, he would do well to 
forage for food, he announced unto himself. 

Above, in her stateroom, Patsy had flung herself into 
her berth, and was weeping her heart away. Break- 
fast did not occur to her now. She was no longer 
hungry. She had a sad headache, but it did not 
matter 1 Tom did not love her — so how could it matter 
about anything else ! This was not being married j 
This being ignored and humiliated and shut away in 
the corner — she could not bear it — she could not bear it 
any more 1 She burst into a fresh paroxysm of weep- 
ing, and so violent was her sobbing that she did not 
hear a tapping at the door. 

It having finally occurred to Mr. Pell that Patricia 
might have shut herself away in a stateroom, he was 


PATRICIA. 


189 

not very long in discovering her. Receiving no an- 
swer to his knock, he walked in and drew a chair up 
beside her, and when she looked up at the sound, she 
was startled to see him sitting so near coolly regarding 
her. 

I — I can’t help crying,” she piteously exclaimed. 

You seem to find a great deal of comfort in it,” he 
said, in an interested tone. I’m sure it must be very 
pleasant. Cry as hard and as loud as you can, then 
you will get the most good out of it ; that’s right — no, 
don’t mind me, I will not complain since you enjoy it. 
Don’t stop ; keep right on, it shows your lungs are 
good, when you can whimper so long without drawing 
a breath ; but, I say, that squeal was a little loud. I 
want you to have a real nice crying time, if it suits 
you, but don’t let’s get the steamer people to inquire 
what it’s all about, for I’m blessed if I know, and you 
seem too occupied to stop for conversation. Did you 
ever hear a cow bellowing for a turnip on the other 
side of the fence? No? Well, if you could cry and 

listen at the same time 

Patricia sprang from the berth and threw herself on 
her knees beside him, burying her face in his coat. 
“ Don’t ! ” she implored him. “ I cannot help it that I 
have a heart ! It is not my fault that I love you ! I 
cannot help it that I suffer when I may not know your 
friends ; I am not a God to reconstruct myself ; I can- 


190 


PATRICIA. 


not pluck out all my feelings and trample them under 
foot just because I would ; I cannot be less sensitive 
because you would have me callous — I am just / — 
Patricia — who cannot be different — I love you ; and 
you hurt me ; let me cry ! ” She reached her arms up 
and twined them tightly about his neck, weeping more 
softly, tired with the violence of her emotion. He 
unclasped her hands, and raised her to his knees, 
spreading a handkerchief over his shoulder for her 
wet face. 

“ I was letting you cry, wasn’t I ? ” he asked in a 
gentler tone ; “ but if you wouldn’t mind crying on the 
handkerchief. I don’t want my coat to look as though 
I had fallen overboard, you know ! And when you are 
sufficiently calm could you tell me what it’s all 
about ? ” 

They were nearly at Tadousac before Mr. Pell re- 
joined the Rivingtons, for Patsy had been somewhat 
difficult to pacify, but when he had appealed to her 
sense of honor, demanding if it was fair she should 
make such a scene, being fully informed, at the time 
of the marriage, that it was to be kept a secret, and 
making no complaint of the arrangement then, 
whether it was fair, under the circumstances, to raise 
such a rattling row, with true womanlike surrender, she 
declared herself in the wrong, begged to be forgiven, 
and agreed to all Tom had to suggest. Which sugges- 


PATRICIA. 


I9I 

tions were, namely, that she should get into the stage- 
coach at Tadousac, and go to the hotel, while he made 
the tour of the town with the Rivingtons, joining her 
at the hotel, as soon as ever he had them back at the 
steamer. 

And it was in this unhappy fashion that Mr. and 
Mrs. Pell arrived in Tadousac. Tadousac with its 
wide, blue bay, and its towering hills, its superb 
scenery and exhilarating atmosphere ; long-anticipated 
Tadousac where comfort and joy were to abound, 
‘‘the }i Eden Ji of Canada ! ” 


192 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ Is anything so good as it seems beforehand ? ” — George Eliot. 

Patricia made no haste to land. She smoothed her 
dishevelled tresses, fluffed a powder-puff, laden with 
“ Orchid Beauty,** over her tear-stained countenance, 
and tucked a clean ’kerchief in her frock front, being 
minus a pocket wherein to bestow it. 

Then she went leisurely ashore, creeping cautiously 
over the very uneven planks of which the wharf was 
composed, and climbed into the rickety little stage on 
the landing. 

Tom was just disappearing from view in a most 
dilapidated barouche, in which Sir Thomas and Lady 
Rivington, and Miss Rivington were also seated, the 
remaining daughters following after, in a vehicle every 
whit as disreputable. 

It was a pretty village, the town of Tadousac, with 
picturesque cottages scattered over the land, reached 
by narrow gravelled paths, bordered by box bushes. 

There were valleys, sweet with the scent of lilac and 
honeysuckle — the flowers are backward in the north — 


r 


PATRICIA. 193 

and hills that seemed a slice of the earth on end, so 
amazingly steep were they. 

Patsy took a tighter grasp of the side of the wagon- 
ette as they started down one frightful declivity. 

“ I am rather afraid,” she remarked to the driver. 

“ Be not afraid,” said he reassuringly, “ there is no 
danger to be had.” 

Patsy smiled at his eccentric English, but drew a 
happier breath when they landed safely at the foot, 
and the muscular little Frenchman guided his horses 
about the curve, bringing them up with a fine sweep 
before the Tadousac Inn. 

The Tadousac Inn was low and broad and white. 
There was a piazza, all the length of it, ornamented 
by green settees. Behind it rose the hills covered 
with foliage, and before it spread the bay ; from afar, 
the little structure seemed a small white shell dropped 
upon the sands. 

Patricia looked admiringly about. Oh, it was true. 
Tadousac beautiful, and the Inn looked quaintly 
homelike. 

When she had explained that her husband was 
taking some friends about the town and would pres- 
ently join her, but she was so fatigued that she had 
come ahead, a middle-aged “ bell-boy ” ushered her up 
the stairway and into the apartment reserved for 
them. 

13 


194 


PATRICIA. 


Patricia carefully closed the door and leaned up 
against the wall, as she surveyed the scene. Then she 
sank plump upon the floor, and laughed till her sides 
ached. How Tom would rave, when he arrived ! 
What a very tempest he would be in ! And there was 
no help for it, there they must stay, not another boat 
left that day ! 

The room was large, with a low ceiling, slanting yet 
lower at one side. The painted floor was bare ; (in 
spots, even the paint had departed) ; except for a few 
rag-rugs, much worn, thrown here and there. The bed, 
in one corner, was roughly made, all humps and hil- 
locks from head to foot, with two diminutive feather « 
pillows, the size of a pincushion, at the head. There 
were two bureaux, somewhat wobbly, from the castors 
not being all there, and a bit deficient in knobs and 
keys. The long wash-stand held two crockery bowls 
and pitchers ; and nails, driven in the wall, were to 
atone for the absence of closet and wardrobe ! Two 
upright wooden chairs completed the furnishing. And 
this was the comfort at Tadousac ! 

Tom paused on the threshold half an hour later, 
when he opened the door in answer to Patsy’s feeble 
“ Come ! ” 

She was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the 
wall her arms akimbo, and her head fallen dejectedly 
upon one side. 


PATRICIA. 


195 

“ I can’t laugh any more,” she said, wearily. “ I’ve 
laughed till I’m quite dead ! I’m too tired to look at 
you, but I know just the expression you are wearing, 
and that in a moment you will begin to break this 
lovely furniture into kindling wood, but, first, would 
you kindly help me into one of those soft little chairs ? ” 

Absolute silence reigned for a moment, then the 
door closed, and she heard Tom’s footsteps echoing 
down the hall. 

“Tom!” she called, flying to the door. Please 
Tom,” running after him, “don’t leave me. Where 
are you going ? ” 

“ I am going to inquire when I can get away,” he 
answered, grimly. 

“ Well, please take me^ I cannot stay shut up there» 
it will give me the shudders ! Perhaps, somewhere, 
there are better rooms ! ” 

“ I doubt it.” 

“ Of course, we cannot expect anything sumptuous, 
and private parlors and private baths are out of the 
question, but it would seem as though one might 
expect a decent bed ! ” 

Tom went into the office, and Patsy wandered over 
to the tiny church across the way. It was a historic 
little edifice, some thirty feet long — a single story, with 
a belfry upon the top — and was erected by the Jesuit 
Fathers in 1747. Within are some rare old relics. 


PATRICIA. 


196 

Some wooden candlesticks roughly carved with a knife 
— centuries old, it is said — stand upon a table in the 
sacristy ; and in a glass case is preserved a wax-figure 
representing the Infant Jesus, sent by Louis XIV. to 
the Jesuit Priests, when the church was built. He is 
richly apparelled in crimson satin, and wears mocassins 
upon his feet, which latter it must be supposed the 
Indians added to the Holy Child’s attire — as it hardly 
seems as if they could have come out of France. 

Tom joined her as she went out into the churchyard, 
where the inscriptions on the v/eather-stained crosses 
were many of them quite effaced. 

“ Well, we can get away to-morrow,” he said, quite 
cheerily. “ There are only four boats a week away 
from here, and we have had the great good luck to 
land here on the only day that a boat leaves on the 
day following. That gives me an appetite for dinner, 
which I believe is now being served. Shall we go and 
discover just how bad a repast it will be ? ” 

It is not my purpose to describe at length the ex- 
traordinary discomforts of Tadousac. There is hardly 
a more beautiful spot on the globe, but one cannot fill 
the stomach upon scenery ; there never was a more 
bracing air, but one cannot make a mattress of the 
atmosphere ! When dinner was found to be a meal 
relegated to the hour of noon, and a cold supper was 
set before them, that night, Tom declared he was 


PATRICIA. 


197 


going back to Quebec to thrash the man that sent him 
there ! When he hunted in vain for a smooth spot in 
the bed to rest upon, thrashing was too good for that 
man ; he should be drawn and quartered. And when 
they were kept awake half the night by the unearthly 
yells of drunken revellers below, one of whom was 
finally borne from the house by four fellow-roisterers, 
laid upon a grave in the churchyard, and tied by the 
feet to a tombstone, Mr. Pell declared that death was 
too fine a fate for the man in Quebec ; he should keep 
him alive and torttire him ! 

Breakfast, consisting of ancient meats in a lake of 
fat, sent them hurrying from the table, and Tom com- 
pasionately took Patsy with him to the bar, it being 
empty at the moment. The young man behind, 
greeted them cordially, and mixed the drinks with a 
practiced hand, while he vigorously chewed a cud of 
tobacco. From time to time, he spat the juice from 
his mouth, behind, or over the bar, as it suited him ; 
but so agile and adept was he in these expectorations 
that he widely cleared the glass on each occasion, to 
Tom’s infinite relief. When the drinks were ready, 
though, Patsy had vanished. Tom found her on the 
step outside. 

“ Don’t you want your cocktail, dear ? ” he asked. 

“ No-o,” she said, tearfully. “ I don’t want it ! I 
want to go back to New York ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


198 

Two very weary and hungry tourists boarded the 
steamer leaving Tadousac that afternoon. 

“ Do you suppose Basil and Isabel March stopped 
here?” asked Tom, as the steamer swung out from 
the wharf. 

“ No. They didn’t,” said Patsy, meekly.' ** They 
had the good sense to turn back at Quebec ! Please 
don’t tease me, Tom, I’m having just as horrid a time 
as you are ! ” 

‘ Those lovely little French villages in the Sague- 
nay ! ’ ” quoted Tom, unkindly. 

“ They sound lovely in books ! ” mourned Patsy. 

“ Well, the next time you desire to explore the 
country, dear, kindly get some books on the locality 
you are interested in, and travel through them^ and let 
that satisfy you. I don’t think this tour can be called 
a howling success ! Thank the Lord, it’s about over, 
though ; we’ll land in Quebec to-morrow, and take the 
night train for Montreal. Now, I’ll run down and get 
our stateroom, and then we’ll see about supper ; I had 
a fairly decent lunch on board coming from Chicou- 
timi, so I am in hopes we will get something eatable 
to-night.” 

But Tom had reckoned without his host when he 
announced their journey so near at an end ; every state- 
room was taken, and there was nothing for it but to 
get off at Riviere du Loup for the night, where^ after 


PATRICIA. 


199 


all, they fared fairly well, and drove to Cacouna in the 
morning, a very popular Canadian resort. There were 
groups of ladies upon the piazza, all engaged in em- 
broidery or crochet. In the parlors, ladies were assem- 
bled in little groups, listening to the band music, and 
they, too, were most industriously engaged with 
knitting or needle-work ; a few young men were loung- 
ing about with tennis-rackets or golf-sticks in their 
hands, and older men were reading the papers. 

Patsy sat down on the gallery, while Tom took a 
walk about. There were two elderly women sitting 
near her, and a young girl. 

“ Indeed, Constance,” one was saying, “ you must 
really be more careful with whom you talk, it is a 
very serious thing for a young girl to be seen with 
Mrs. Ponsonby.” 

“ Why ? ” asked the girl. She had clear gray eyes 
and a direct way of looking at one. 

“ Her history will not bear telling,” said the first 
speaker. “ It is sufficient that I forbid you to talk 
to her.” 

“ But if one has been wrong and repents,” argued the 
girl, “and God forgives them, why shouldn’t we? ” 

“ The woman with a past is a woman without a 
future,” said the elder woman, austerely. “ Do not 
argue with me, but let me see you no more with Mrs. 
Ponsonby. Now you may go.” 


200 


PATRICIA. 


The girl bowed, and went down the walk where one 
of the young men with a tennis-racket awaited her. 

“ Constance is so hard to control,” sighed the lady, 
who had been speaking, “she has such strange, unlady- 
like notions, I cannot conceive how she comes by 
them. Ah ! there is Mr. Fletcher, he treats his wife 
most hideously ; always calling her dear^ and showing 
her every attention, while in town he is prancing about 
with that little blonde Benson girl. I wonder his wife 
is so easily deceived by a few pet phrases. I should 
know that man was a sneak just to look at his face ! 
And there’s that poor little Mrs. Thomas, do you see 
Mr. Thomas down there in that shady corner with Mrs. 
Treat? They are always together — eat together, walk 
together, ride together, and his poor little meek-spirited 
wife comes and peers at them around the corner, and 
then goes back to her tatting alone.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Pell went by train that afternoon to 
Quebec, and glad and gay they were when they landed 
once more at the Frontenac, and la/ down in a com- 
fortable bed after a hearty supper. They slept the 
sleep of the satisfied, never waking till the sun was 
high in the heavens. 

“ Torn,” said Mrs. Pell, “ are you awake ? ” 

“ No ! ” said Tom, in a sleepy, but decided tone. 

“ Will you wake up, please ? ” 

“ No,” he said, without opening his lazy eyes. 


PATRICIA. 


201 


“ But I want you to answer me something.'’ 

No answer. 

“ Tom,” she said, softly, laying her cheek, close to 
his, “ are you bad, like the other men ? ” 

Tom’s eyes opened in a stare. 

“ Eh ? ” he said, with sleepy astonishment. 

“ Would you deceive me, like all the other husbands 
do their wives? ” 

An amused smile spread over his countenance. 
He shut his eyes again, and snuggled his head down 
deeper into the pillow. 

“ No, dear,” he answered her, as one already asleep 
again, “ never deceive you — course not.” 

And then he turned over, and snugly settled himself 
for another nap. 


202 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“Nothing comes to us too soon, but sorrow.” — B ailey. 

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Pell took a small apart- 
ment in a small hotel in upper New York for the 
winter. There were several matters, combined, which 
prevented their going abroad, at once, as they had 
intended ; the main matter being a business venture 
on Wall Street, which Tom decided would require his 
constant oversight. It was one of those charming 
little ventures where you drop a nickel into the slot, 
press the button, and pull out a greenback — that is, if 
the button works ! Billy Bancroft was the president 
of the affair, and would only let his friends into the 
combination ; it was too good a thing to waste on the 
populace, who would never appreciate the kind turn 
done them. He let Tom in, and Teddy Page ; and 
Tom was elected treasurer. 

So he told Patsy that they would remain in the 
States till spring — whereat Mrs. Pell was most deeply 
disappointed. New York, which she had formerly re- 
garded as a positive Paradise, she was sure would be 


PATRICIA. 


203 


dull compared to the delights of Paris and Rome ; 
and, then, it was so much longer till she saw dear 
Honora, — dear, sober-grown, preachy Honora — who 
nevertheless loved her, she felt, as no one else did! 
However, Tom assured her that they would go over in 
the spring, and if “ the thing panned out as they an- 
ticipated,” she could have a better time there then, 
than now. 

There were other inducements, also, which con- 
tributed to Mr. Pell’s decision to spend a winter at 
home. He had been welcomed very cordially by old 
college and family friends, and in his fancied desire 
to lead a more regular existence, he concluded these 
were the people to settle down among. He would 
take that place in society which was his, by birthright, 
attend to the details of his new business enterprises, 
and mould himself into a model citizen, generally. 
Later on, if he found that he and Patsy were hitting 
it off well together, he would introduce her to the 
proper circle and establish himself in a home — but 
there was time enough for that — never rush things, 
was his motto — never by any means do to-day that 
you can somehow postpone until the morrow. 

So Mr. and Mrs. Pell, upon returning from their 
wedding trip, took a small suite of rooms at The 
Empress, which, as you know, is patronized by a select 
class of people, and is situated not far from the Park. 


204 


PATRICIA. 


The aristocracy of the city, it is true, do not patronize 
its ball or its banquet room ; but that may be because 
they have never heard of the place — as is possible — or, 
again, because of the inadequate size of these rout 
rooms. However, those people who abide at The Em- 
press are of a very respectable class, and Tom decided 
it suited his purposes, and that there he would dwell. 
Being remote from social centres he was not apt to 
run across his friends and be compelled to introduce 
Patricia before it pleased him to do so ; and the house 
being new and well built, with good plumbing and 
drainage, he need not worry about its healthfulness, as 
he should have done about some less modern domicile, 
in that part of town. 

And when both a piano and an seolian had been placed 
in the drawing-room, some good engravings hung on the 
walls, and some silken things and cushions scattered 
where they should go, the modest little apartment 
looked very cozy and inviting, and Mr. Pell felt moved 
to compliment his wife upon its charmingly home-like 
appearance. 

Patricia was pleased with it, too, and often re- 
mained indoors the whole day, reading, practicing, or 
studying. As the warm days of the Indian summer 
vanished away and the evenings became longer and 
chillier, Patsy would light the gas log, in the fireplace, 
when evening came, and watch with delight the warm 


PATRICIA. 


205 


glow upon the bright-hued bolsters of the divan, the 
play of light upon the rugs and draperies, and think 
no one ever had such a dear, dainty home as she. 
Then Tom would enter and tell her it was a pretty 
picture for a tired fellow to come home to — and that 
she was the very sweetest of it all. And Patricia 
would cover his face with caresses, and fly for her little 
silver teaball and caddy of Formosa ; poor Tom ! who 
had to work so many hours in that tiresome old Street, 
he must have a good cup of tea, and it was his Patsy 
would make it for him ! 

Then Tom would fling himself upon the couch, with 
a sigh of weariness, and relate to her sympathizing 
ears that he had been “ working like a dog,” while she 
brewed the tea, and chattered to him of how she had 
passed the day. And Patricia was happy. 

At Tom’s request Mrs. Pell had commenced the culti- 
vation of her voice, and a French demoiselle of Tom’s 
choosing passed an hour with her daily to perfect her 
in the French tongue. Tiring of her books and music 
she would wander out into the Park for a brisk walk, 
and there were occasional afternoons when Tom re- 
turned early enough to take her for a drive up the 
road. Of course, he could not often come so early 
though, for there was the busmess — (which, in truth, 
occupied every whit of six hours a week — the half 
hour it required daily to reach Bancroft’s office, where 


2o6 


PATRICIA. 


he received what mail he did not get at the club, and 
the half hour it took to get back). 

He had not thought it necessary to talk much about 
his social diversions to Patricia, the comprehensive 
word “ business ” being an easier explanation of his 
absences. When he dined out, he was dining at the 
Club ; when he did not return until the “ wee sma’ 
hours,” he had been talking business with “ some 
people.” He felt a little guilty at attending this 
function and that, and leaving Patricia in solitude. 
He met Thorn one day and asked him to go up to 
see her. “ I fancy she gets lonesome,” he said to his 
friend, “ run up and have dinner with us some night — 
if I should happen to be out that evening, you can 
depend upon a welcome from Mrs. Pell.” 

When the hour would arrive for Tom's home- 
coming, and Patsy had carefully arrayed herself for 
the evening, she would sit near the window, watching 
— with her heart beating fast — when some one re- 
sembling him would leave the car ; and when he 
really came at last, a wave of joy swept over her, 
and she would hurry to the door to be ready to greet 
him the instant he should knock. And when those 
days came when the hour went by, all too often, and 
another hour, and yet the next, and Tom did not 
come, her heart grew sad beyond the telling ; she 
would send her dinner away untouched ; the disap- 


PATRICIA. 


207 


pointment was keen ; all the world had lost its glad- 
ness ; the wind whistling through the trees in the 
Park played a dirge. 

“ If you knew, darling, how lonely the evenings are 
without you,” she would gently say, “ you would try 
not to leave me so much.” And Tom would answer 
impatiently, “Would you keep me mewed up in four 
walls all the time? I knew very well how it would be. 
The moment a man is married he must be forever 
chained to his own hearthstone. Now, I don’t intend 
to settle down into any humdrum old farmer yet awhile. 
I work hard all day, and if I want to spend the evening 
with my friends, or at the Club, I still consider it my 
privilege to do so.” 

“ But — dear — must you — so many evenings ? I don’t 
want to keep you at home all the time — but lately you — 
you — hardly seem to be at home at all.” 

“ Well, I am very sorry to discover that you are a 
woman with no resources within herself. With com- 
fortable surroundings, all the latest books and maga- 
zines, your music and your French, one really would 
suppose you could amuse yourself for an evening. 
You must have a very shallow mind! There, now, 
don’t begin to cry ! I never saw a woman cry so 
much as you do ! I expect you’ll drown me some day 
in your tears, and it’s not a nice way to lose me ! ” 

Patricia started, and looked up piteously into his frown- 


2o8 


PATRICIA. 


ing face. Was that a threat ? Could she lose him ? 
Would Tom ever leave her? She flung herself upon 
his breast with a cry. Oh, Tom ! ” she sobbed. 
“ Don't talk like that. I’m sorry I cry. I’m sorry I 
annoy you — but forgive me — forgive me everything^ 
always^ just as I will you — I could never bear it to 
have you stop loving me — if ever anything should 
come between you and me, it would drive me mad ! ’* 

Tom came home for dinner the night following and 
the next. He was touched by her worship. He took 
•her to the theatre and then to a little supper. He was 
very good and kind and considerate, in his way, for all 
of a week ; and yet, it was during this week that Pa- 
tricia made a discovery — she awoke to the fact that 
Tom simply endured her caresses — if they were re- 
turned, it was so perfunctorily that it cut her to the soul ! 

In the exuberance of her own love she had not 
noticed his growing indifference. Because she had 
lavished the tenderest caresses upon him, in the 
fulness of her heart, she had imagined he caressed her in 
turn — she forgot that it was she who rushed to kiss 
him when he entered — she had not noticed that he 
never voluntarily took her in his arms now, and never 
told her that he loved her any more until one cruel 
night the truth confronted her. 

Mr. Thorn had dined with them that evening. He 
had been very jolly and entertaining, and had told her 


PATRICIA. 


209 


news of Annette, whom he had quite recently called 
upon, he said. But Patricia had been glad when he 
came to go. She longed to have Tom all to herself. 
She wanted to climb upon his knees and get close 
into his arms, and be made love to^ and as she was 
thinking about it, all at once she remembered — yes, it 
was certainly true — she could not remember when Tom 
last said in words that he loved her ! She only knew, 
all in a flash, that it was ever and ever so long ago. 

She sat there, dully thinking, after Mr. Thorn had 
gone, lost in bitter retrospection, while the cigarette 
she held between her fingers smoked itself down until 
it scorched her finger-tips. 

Tom was buried in the evening paper. So ! he had 
not even noticed that she had not run to kiss him as 
usual the moment the door was closed. 

“Tom!” she exclaimed suddenly, “do you love 
me?” 

“ M-m-m-m ! ” said Tom, cheerfully, without taking 
his eyes off the paper. 

“ Well, say so 1 ” she said coaxingly, bending forward 
eagerly, as she moved her chair nearer to his. 

But Tom was very much absorbed in the stock re- 
ports. He apparently did not hear her ; for there was 
no reply. 

“ Wouldn’t you miss me if I went away? ” she asked, 

after several moments’ silence. 

14 


210 


PATRICIA. 


Tom looked up, in a very astonished way, threw 
down the paper, yawned prodigiously, and walked to- 
ward the bedroom door. 

‘‘ Don’t be silly, child,” he said very paternally. 
“ Put away your books and come to bed. You are 
getting careless about sitting up so late — your com- 
plexion is getting very sallow, I noticed it, yesterday; 
You must see to it that you get to bed earlier, and 
perhaps you’ll grow pretty again.” 

The portiere swung to. She heard him yawn again, 
and throw down his boots with a clatter. But she 
did not hasten to join him ; she threw herself down 
upon the divan instead, burying her face in the rough 
Persian bolsters. She did not cry — the hurt was too 
deep for tears to sooth — she could only press her dry, 
burning eyes closer upon the pillows and bury her face 
too deep to make moan. “ He does not love me ! ” 
she whispered. “ What shall I do ! What shall I 
do ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


211 


CHAPTER XXL 

“And if I laugh at any mortal thing, ’tis that I may not weep.” 

— Byron. 

And here is a strange truth. Although Patricia 
had awakened to the fact that Tom was indifferent to 
her caresses and her companionship, he was totally 
unaware of the fact himself. He did not know he had 
ceased to bestow those involuntary caresses which are 
so precious to a woman, and had no idea how remiss 
he had been in speaking to her of his love. Not of a 
demonstrative nature, naturally, the novelty of Patsy’s 
proximity having worn off, he had accepted her com- 
panionship, recently, as a part of the daily routine of 
life, all unaware that this was so, and quite unconscious 
that he was behaving in such an unlover-like way. 
When Patsy greeted him with kisses upon his home^ 
coming, he had certainly returned them, and when she 
had coquettishly called him back in the morning, now 
and then, for “just kiss-good-bye,” he certainly- 

had not complained ! — In fact Patsy had never bored 
him. She made him angry, at times, and they would, 
have their little rages, and relent, and up ; but in. 


212 


PATRICIA. 


general she amused and entertained him. — He was very 
fond of her ; and had never, more than momentarily, 
regretted their marriage. But because he was fond of 
a woman, it did not argue, did it, that he must spend 
the day upon his knees before her, or become a Molly 
instead of a man ! And he was indeed at a loss to 
understand the tempestuous days that followed. 

On the morning after Mr. Thorn had dined with the 
Pells, Patricia announced very soberly, at breakfast, 
that she was going to France, on the following Wednes- 
day. And Tom had treated it as a joke and laughed in a 
way Patricia regarded as distinctly offensive and rude ! 

“You do not love me any more,” she added quietly, 
“ so I am going to Honora.” 

Then Tom became serious. 

“ I suppose you are not well this morning, and that 
I must be patient with you, but I do not like such absurd 
freaks,” he said. 

“You will not say you love me!” she answered, 
sullenly. 

“ I have told you a great many times that I love 
you,” he impatiently exclaimed. “ I do not know 
what you base this assertion upon. But one thing is 
certain. I forbid you to go to Honora ! When you 
wish to leave me, I will direct where you shall go.” 

“ I will go where I choose 1 ” said Patricia, with 
spirit. “ I am not in the habit of being dictated to ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


213 


“ It is an excellent habit to acquire,” said Tom, 
superbly, as he pushed back his chair, and struggled 
into his fur-lined overcoat. “ It is a habit I would like 
you to cultivate while you remain with me. Good- 
morning.” He touched her lips lightly with his own, 
and then sauntered, debonairly, out of the door, down 
the hall, and away. 

Then followed days when the thermometer of Mrs. 
Pell’s moods raced from fever heat to zero, and below 
zero, and back again to the fever degree. 

At one time he would find her moody and un- 
approachable and again in a passion of tears. 

“ Leave me ! ” she would cry, “ you no longer love 
me ! Leave me ! It will be better for us both! ” and 
a moment after she would fly to Tom’s side and, taking 
his face in her little hands, rain passionate kisses from 
brow to chin, and with her lips clinging to his, would 
sob, “ I love you so ! I love you so! And you break 
my heart 1 ” 

And Tom could not understand. These moods were 
repulsive to him. He hated scenes. He hated tears. 
Why would she do it ? It wasn’t fair ! It was quite 
uncalled for. He had done all he could for her — what 
more did she want 1 And he would stand looking at 
her in displeased perplexity, when a warm embrace 
would have cured all ! Poor little savage, untutored 
Patsy, who knew nothing of the ways of the world, 


214 


PATRICIA. 


less than nothing of the make-up of mankind, who 
could not understand why Tom was not content with 
her society alone, when /i is wa.s all-sufficient {other; 
who knew nothing of the male craving for freedom and 
variety, but who would have been happy could she 
have locked Tom up in a glass case, and sat all day 
before him in adoring contemplation ! Poor little 
Patsy ! who could never tire of being told she was 
loved ; whose warm little heart yearned for kisses and 
embraces from dawn till dark, and dark till dawn ; — 
and Tom had not understood — had one day told her, 
laughingly, that he did not know where she had learned 
her hideous sentimentality, and the next impatiently 
exclaimed that he did wish she wouldn’t be a damn fool, 
just because she knew how ! 

And Patricia cried till her eyes were heavy and her 
heart weighed like lead. She would not disobey Tom 
and go to Honora, and she refrained from writing her 
of her unhappiness. Memories of home came fre- 
quently to her, in these days. She wondered if they 
thought of her — if they ever missed her — if her father 
had one glimmer of tenderness deep in his heart for 
her — if Dorothea sometimes thought kindly of her, 
and if her mother sorrowed for the little stepdaughter, 
whom she had watched over from babyhood. She 
wondered if her aunt — her own mamma’s sister — 
had returned from abroad and was at home again, and 


PATRICIA. 


215 


what she should do if she met her some day in the 
street — would she tell her all, or would she hurry 
away, and pretend she had never seen her. How she 
longed to write home, and tell them all the truth, — 
that she was married to Tom — and miserable. 

Would they take her home if they knew how sad 
and penitent she was ! And then she thought of 
Honora — of her white face and suffering eyes when 
she told her her story. No — she would not go home ! 
Her father’s forgiveness she would spurn, if he offered 
it ! What was he to forgive her ! Let him think she 
was living in shame ! It avenged Honora ! 

But the ties of blood are not easily severed. Patricia, 
— whether she owned it, or not, was homesick ; she 
longed for her own people, she longed for companion- 
ship — and Tom was home less than ever now, — why 
should he come home to be greeted by a storm, when 
there were other women, who welcomed him with 
smiles ! 

The ladies residing at The Empress did not exchange 
calls with one another, as the neighbors did in Schuy- 
lerville. French idioms interested her less, as the 
winter wore on ; and since crying so continually had 
not improved her voice, she finally abandoned her 
lessons in “ vocal culture.” Tom never came, in the 
early afternoon now, to take her for a drive in the Park — • 
in fact there had come a night, and then two, that he 


2i6 


TATRICIA. 


never came home at all ; and Patsy had referred, bitterly 
to the apartment where they dwelt as Tom’s “ up- 
town clothes-press ” since he had, some time ago, had a 
trunk with evening clothes and linen^ sent to his Club 
— his ostensible residence. 

So that life in the little apartment at The Empress 
was very dull. Bric-a-brac and music were all very 
well — and pretty surroundings and good dinners were 
not to be sneered at, but they were a poor substitute 
for people ; they could not warm the heart of a lonely 
woman ; and thus it happened that when Patricia ran 
across Annette, one day, on the avenue, she greeted 
her with almost ecstatic delight. 

Where had she come from ? Why — why from 
Canada! In Canada all this time? — In Canada most 
of the time — and other places— but never mind where 
she had come from — she was here — and she was so glad 
to see Annette she would like to “ hug her hard,” she 
declared enthusiastically, if it were not that so many 
people were looking, and might consider it an eccentric 
street scene! — And where was she going? — Oh, she 
didn’t know — just wandering about. Wasn’t it lunch- 
eon time, and would Annette lunch with her ? Sup- 
pose they went to Del’s — just as they did that long-ago 

day when she was so happy ” and then she bit her 

lip, and stopped abruptly. 

Annette looked at her curiously. “ You are pale, 


PATRICIA. 217 

dear, and thinner — you are not taking good care of 
yourself, I fear ! ” 

Patricia laughed feverishly. “ You told me that 
last fall. Your old journalism does not teach you good 
manners. You are very blunt and rude ! ” 

Annette smiled. “ Well, at any rate, you are my 
same old saucy Patsy, and what I was going to do to- 
day can be done to-morrow, so I’ll lunch with you, with 
pleasure — and afterwards we’ll go round to my rooms, 
if you’ll go.” 

They found a table in the far corner, and Patricia 
insisted that Annette should do the ordering. ‘‘Only 
I must have asparagus salad, and bar-lc-diic jelly,” she 
added ; “ and I want to dress the salad myself — Honora 
taught me how, and you’ll surely like it ! Who is that 
distinguished-looking man, over there, Annette, with 
the florid face, and the snow-white hair, in the centre 
of the room, by the post, eating beefsteak and ome- 
let?” 

“ Oh, that is Mr. Vork — he is celebrated for his horses, 
or his stable — I guess it’s the stable ; or may be both. 
He’s a howling old swell, and has a son who took the 
Keeley Cure and survived it — has neither dropped dead, 
nor gone mad. The man with the sensitive face, in 
the window corner, with two ladies, is Condemrosch, 
the musician, and there, by the door, the man with the 
big head — there ! he is rising to speak to some one, — ■ 


2I8 


PATRICIA. 


hasn’t he a courtly bow? that is Tavroyeni Bey, an 
ambassador.” 

Gracious ! You know them all ! ” 

“Yes, I know them all,” laughed Annette; “but 
they don’t know me. It is a very one-sided acquaint- 
anceship. I fancy they would be surprised if I bowed. 
Those two little men with light hair are the Byrnes 
Brothers, of Twenty-third Street, and that beautiful 
brunette, by the front window, just raising a sauterne 
glass to her lips, is Janet Jerolemon — whose relation- 
ship to Bertie Bend, the young man she is lunching 
with, is an unfortunate one, without doubt.” 

“ But who is she ? ” asked Patsy, attracted by the 
piquant gypsy face, with its large, sad eyes, shaded with 
heavy, inky lashes. 

“ That would be difficult to say,” said Annette. 
“She first dawned upon New York as an^actress. 
People and Press went mad over her beauty, and more 
than all, it was discovered she could act. She had a 
great future before her — then she had the misfortune 
to meet Bertie Bend.” 

“ Why a misfortune ? ” 

“ Because .she was too talented a woman to throw 
herself away. When the Company went on the road 
she withdrew; took a richly-furnished apartment that 
the world is interested in discussing how she pays for, 
and is seen everywhere with Bertie Bend.” 


PATRICIA. 219 

“ Perhaps it is all right, though,” said Patricia, “ they 
might be secretly married, and nobody know ! ” 

“ Probably not ! ” said Annette. “ If she had any 
right to his name, she is not the sort of woman, I think, 
who would sacrifice her reputation needlessly ; and if 
the man cared enough for her to marry her he would 
certainly not permit the world to traduce her. That 
is why I say it is unfortunate for a woman with so 
much talent to throw over a fine future, all for a man 
who has simply a passing fancy for her. I could never 
understand why it should be necessary for a woman 
to become stone-blind simply because she is in 
love.” 

“ Were you ever in love, Annette ? ” Patricia asked, 
bending eagerly forward. “ Cannot you conceive a 
woman loving a man so madly that she is powerless 
to be else than a mere reed in his hands ? ” 

“ I can conceive it,” Annette answered, musingly. 
‘‘Yes, I can conceive it ! For the man I loved^ I would 
do and dare anything. There is nothing he could ask 
me, that it would be too great for me to grant. I would 
willingly live with him as his mistress, in defiance of 
the whole world. I would gladly fling every friend 
from me, to cleave unto him. Nothing could be a 
sacrifice if Jie asked it. Nothing could hurt me, if it 
was his will that I should suffer it. I would only have 
fo look into his eyes for courage, to do and dare any- 


220 


PATRICIA. 


thing he might ask. But the man who ivould permit me 
to dishonor my self ^ for love of him^ would not be worth 
it. The man who would expose me to the world’s 
gibes and jeers, would not be the man I could 
love! He would not be worth all the humiliations 
that would daily confront me ! The man who accepts 
all the pleasures of love, and shirks the burdens, is 
a sneak, and I cannot believe I would ever give my 
heart to a sneak ! ” 

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Patricia asked 
the waiter for the English mustard. 

“ Do you like a little mustard in the dressing, 
Annette?” she asked, lightly. “I only use the 
least little, — just enough to mix the pepper and 
salt into a good little paste. Do you know the 
lady sitting by the door, lunching with the bald- 
headed person, who keeps rolling his eyes over here ? 
Her face seems familiar. I may have seen her at the 
Fair.” 

And they fell back into discussing the people about 
them, and Annette pointed out more celebrities and 
Patricia chattered of Canada, and told Annette how 
“ the whole party,” came near dying of starvation at 
Tadousac — “ the II Eden li of Canada ! ” 

And the people at the tables about watched 
her, and thought how bright and pretty, how 
chic of costume, and how jolly and gay the little 


PATRICIA. 


221 


stranger in the corner seemed — never dreaming that 
deep down beneath the well of laughter that rip- 
pled so carelessly to her lips — there were tears m her 
heart. 

Only Patsy knew. 


222 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“We may be near to each other, and not meet, 

And far apart in the same room.” 

Abbe Fenilon. 

It was something of a climb to Miss Fay’s rooms 
away up under the eaves in a wide, old-fashioned 
mansion in Thirty-sixth Street, east ; but, when you 
had arrived, you did not complain of the climb. 

You stepped from the stairway into a roomy, square 
hall, lighted by a large skylight in the roof. It was 
simply furnished in Delft shades, with a long, high- 
backed Martha Washington settle, covered with cre- 
tonne, and chairs from some grandmother’s garret, 
upholstered to match.' A small bedroom led from 
the hall at the back, all in white, from the painted 
iron bedstead to the muslin sash curtains at the 
latticed windows. The “ guest chamber,” next, had 
leaf-green tints mingled with the white. There was a 
work-table of white wood, with cover and basket of 
green. The desk was white, and there were chairs 
of green wicker. The white iron bed had a green silk 
spread ; and a small stand of white wood in one corner 
held a majolica bowl of fruit. 


PATRICIA. 


223 


At the front were two larger rooms, with big dormer 
windows. One was used as a parlor, the other as a 
sanctum^' Annette announced. Three doors stood 
open, but the “ sanctum ” door was shut. 

The parlor was a fairly good copy of the one ex- 
hibited at the Fair, in the house of a Cairo street mer- 
chant. There were low couches covered with Eastern 
stuffs, inlaid tables, and swinging lamps ; low screens 
made the background of a lazy-corner, where a huge 
paper umbrella served as a canopy. The seat beneath 
was upholstered in red, and cushions in the devil’s 
shades were piled high, one upon another, at the back. 
Footstools were below, and an oblong smoking-table 
stood in front of this fantastic divan. 

“ I call this corner ‘ Little Hell,’ ” said Annette. 
“ I had a funny little devil that I perched behind the 
top cushion, but one of the boys begged for it, and I 
too generously gave it to him. Now I miss my little 
imp, for what is hell without a devil ? ” 

“ Certainly rather incomplete,” said Patsy. “ I shall 
go and find you another! They say everything one 
ever heard of is to be had in New York — why not a 
devil ? But who are the boys? ” 

“ Oh, the newspaper men — and the artists — that 
prowl about here when they’ve nothing else to do ! 
And Eve one or two actors on my list. They make 
things very lively here sometimes. But I don’t let 


224 


PATRICIA. 


them bother me ; no one is admitted till four, and I 
make them scamper at ten, for I have an owly habit of 
writing my articles at night, and about ten the scrib- 
bling fit is on ! But from four to six, almost daily, %vc 
have quite a gossiping bee here. Bessie N. Cole will 
stop in for a cup of tea on her way home from some 
interview and tell me a lot about the distinguished 
personage — that never gets into the paper. James 
Raleigh Claremont makes some of his sketches here 
that are so admired in Life and Truths when any of 
us will serve as a model. The man who wrote ‘ Some 
Jags and Others, by One Who Knows,’ — nicknamed 
‘ The Jag Chap ’ by the boys — is also very fond of my 
tea, and by the way, he is a very decent little chap — 
never was drunk in his life — but has seen others ! 
Then there’s ‘ Chimmie Cord,’ who says real life is 
only to be found on the Bowery, but I doubt if he’s 
been there in ten years, and Marjorie Macintosh, who 
writes fashions, which you never would guess to see 
the get-up she puts upon herself ! 

I won’t give them a thing to drink except good 
oolong; but there’s always a sardine sandwich or so, 
and plenty of biscuits and jam, and they are welcome 
to smoke ; a little haze in the room just sufficiently 
subdues the gaudiness of my hangings.” 

“ But yon don’t smoke ? ” said Patricia. 

“ I ? Oh, no ! ” 


PATRICIA. 


225 


Do you think it is wrong? ” 

“ Wrong? Not a bit of it. Any number of girls I 
know smoke, and smoke very gracefully ; but I do not 
care for it myself, and why should I make myself ill 
simply to cultivate a trick I don’t care for. It always 
seems to me a very silly little vice. I had rather do 
something really startling. A girl lights a cigarette 
and is filled with admiration for herself. She thinks 
she is so darings and exults in her wickedness, when 
she only succeeds in being vulgar. I had an assign- 
ment once that took me to a little village where there 
was only one hotel, and that was crowded, so another 
newspaper girl and I had to take a room together. She 
hesitated a little, after we were undressed, and then said : 
‘ Would you — would you mind if I smoke a cigarette? ’ 
‘ No, indeed,’ I said. ‘ I suppose you think it is very 
wicked ? ’ she remarked, with argument in her tone. 
‘ No,’ I said, ‘ I don’t see anything very wicked about it, 
but personally I prefer to leave smoking to my broth- 
ers.’ ‘ I used to think just as you do,’ she said pityingly, 
‘ but since I’ve been out in the world, Fve growii broad- 
er' You can imagine how squelched I felt, Patsy.” 

“ What did you say?” laughed Patsy. 

“ Oh, nothing. What was there to say ? But I 
have known since then that if you smoke cigarrettes 
you are ^broad-minded,’ and if you don’t, you haven’t 
‘ been out in the world.’ Would you care to see my 

15 . 


226 


PATRICIA. 


sanctufji now ? It is not every one I will let have even 
the least peep ; but you may come in, if you like.” 

Patricia declared she wanted to “ see it all,” and 
Annette unlocked the door and admitted her. The 
floor was bare save for a small art-square in the centre, 
on which stood a large office desk, with roller top, and 
a row of drawers down either side to the floor. 

There was a stand on the right, holding a large 
dictionary, and on the left, within reach, less than a 
dozen books had place on the shelves of a revolving 
book-case. There was Roget’s Thesaurus^ Richard 
Grant White’s Words and Their Uses, Phrase 
and Fable, The Readej'^s Handbooks, a rhyming 
dictionary, another of quotations, The Rubdiydt 
(McCarthy’s translation) and a volume of Sir Edwin 
Arnold’s poems. Before the desk was a chair. There 
was nothing else in the room. 

“ Evidently,” said Patricia, “ you do not ask people 
to sit down in here ! ” 

“No,” said Annette. “You see when I come to 
my desk I do not want anything to distract me ; I 
want to have my mind wholly upon my work, and the 
very atmosphere must be free from play. I do not 
want to look at a chair, that will immediately remind 
me that that was where Jennie Jewett was sitting, 
yesterday, and then go on to think of what Jennie 
Jewett said, and get all the nicely assorted ideas for my 


PATRICIA. 52/ 

article scattered to the four corners of the town. I 
haven’t a big enough brain to think intelligently and 
logically on more than one subject at once. So when 
I come in here, I shut away the world ; — I keep this 
for a work-den, pure and simple.” 

“ It looks both ! ” exclaimed Patsy. “ I should 
write sermons, if I were shut up in here, or very 
solemn editorials ! ” 

“ I used to think I was needed in the editorial de- 
partment,” laughed Annette, “ at least my articles 
took on that tone, I was told ; and the Major called 
me up one morning to inform me that he had a regular 
staff employed in that line of work, and none of them 
had asked for my assistance ! I felt very crestfallen ! ” 
Why, how rude he was ! ” said Patsy, sympathiz- 
ingly. 

“ On the contrary I thought him very kind,” re- 
plied Annette. “ Up to that time I had supposed I 
was the balance wheel of the paper ! Here was one 
department which could get on without me. It was 
very well to learn ! ” 

Patricia left before Annette’s reception hour, at 
four; alleging an engagement “ up town.” 

“ I am staying with friends at The Empress,” she 
recklessly announced, knowing that Miss Allan would 
not be found, if Annette chanced to call there — “but I 
wont ask you up, for I am out so much, and your time 


228 


PATRICIA. 


is SO valuable. I will come to see you, though ; may I ? 
Run in at four? Why, I would like it ! Any day? — 
Very well. The first day I can escape from my 
friends, you may expect to see me tapping at your 
Rookery door ! ” 

Patricia walked briskly up the avenue, disdaining 
the lumbering old stage that rattled by. She remem- 
bered Honora’s advice to walk when she felt unhappy 
— the assurance that physical fatigue would numb 
mental unrest. Oh, that she might walk to the ends 
of the earth, and off, and away, into space from which 
there was no returning. She felt more keenly than 
ever the loneliness of her life, after the afternoon with 
Annette. And why should she be lonely ! Why 
should she live this isolated, desolate existence! An- 
nette’s words at luncheon came back to her with re- 
newed stings. She saw herself in Janet Jerolemon ! 
To be sure, she had not been a clever woman with a 
remarkable future to sacrifice for the whim of a man — 
but she had been the woman, blind with love, groping 
her way through a garden of roses — tenderly led, by a 
gentle, if fickle lover, — who plucked for her roses that 
had no thorns ; — an incident, in the life of a man, who 
was life itself^ to her ; — and, now, he had wandered 
on without her ; she was alone ; — she had reached out 
her hands after him, and found — the thorns. Oh, was 
it fair, — when she had loved him so, — was it fair that 


PATRICIA. 


229 


he should tarnish her blithe, young girlhood, and in 
pretense of atonement offer her this mockery of a mar- 
riage ! This hollow sham of sharing his name ! If 
she were known, in the world, as was this Janet 
Jerolemon, would any one believe they were married, 
living as they did. Would not gibes and jeers be her 
share ! Was it right for a man to take all that a 
woman could give him — and requite her Avith tinsel ! 

And was it any the easier to bear, because she had 
only her own weakness to blame ? 

She walked on, block after block ; to Fifty-ninth 
Street — through the Park — out of a west side gate to 
The Empress — flinging herself wearily down on the 
divan as she entered her room. A paper lay beside 
her, and she picked it listlessly up, carelessly scanning 
the headlines — and all at once Tom’s name confronted 
her — he had lead the cotillori at Mrs. Plantagenet’s the 
night before! She tossed the paper from her, with a 
little cry, and, rising, impatiently paced the floor. 
Then, suddenly, she paused before her desk*, hesitated 
a moment, and then seizing her pen, with fervish 
rapidity, covered page after page, as she poured out 
her whole heart to Honora. 

“ Do you know what I conceive hell to be?” she 
concluded. I believe it is one tier upon another of 
solitary cells, and that each holds an individual. You 
can look across into space, and see other beings — just 


230 


PATRICIA. 


too far away from you to hear your voice. You are 
conscious of people all about you — but cell walls 
separate you one from the other — and you are alone, 
alone ; always eternally alone ! No one comes to you, 
to sympathize with you, to comfort you, to love you — 
till at last you go — mad ! After that point is reached, 
there are, undoubtedly, endurable moments — for the 
insane happily have their delusions. 

“ I feel I do not need to leave this earth to experience 
the hell of my conception. My cell is in a little hotel 
where I know only the warden and my jailer. I am 
well housed and fed, and my jailer comes and goes at 
not infrequent intervals. But even when he lies down, 
near me, to slumber, I feel that we are far apart, 
separated by the cell-wall of his indifference. Some 
nights, I lie long awake, listening to every breath he 
draws, and exulting in his proximity. Can you under- 
stand ? Awake, his indifference repels me, but asleep, 
he is mine. I may nestle nearer. I may put out my 
hand and touch his face. I may gently kiss him — 
and he does not know. 

“ But alas ! I am still sane ! So very sane I have not 
even the one, dear delusion I crave, that perhaps in 
some deep recess of his heart he yet cherishes me. 
My love-dream is done. My husband has found other 
attractions — other friends — and drifted away from me, 
/ — a man episode — of yesterday / ” 


PATRICIA. 


231 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ God forgive me I But I’ve thought a thousand times that if I had 
His power, 

Or He my love, we’d have a different world, from this we live in.” 

J. G. Holland. 

Tom stood on the club-steps, talking with Billy Ban- 
croft. The “ business venture,” was not panning out 
very well. It seemed to be a case of all give and no 
get ; a constant stream of assessments, and no div- 
idends in view. 

“ Well,” concluded Bancroft, starting to go, ‘‘ that’s 
how the case stands ; we must each chip in ten 
thousand more or stand a good chance of losing what 
we’ve already put in. I really have faith. Pell, that the 
plant is all it’s cracked up to be ; but it requires a 
great deal more capital to work the thing than was 
laid out to us in the prospectus. If we’ve been fooled, 
why we’ll have to grin and bear it, I suppose, 
whether we relish it, or not.” 

“ I don’t see why the grinning should be compul- 
sory,” remarked Tom. “ I always sympathized with 
that poor devir about to be hung, whom the sheriff 
braced up with those cheering words, as he put the 


232 PATRICIA. 

noose about his neck. * Til bear it/ said the man, 
‘ but I’ll be damned if I’ll grin ! ’ ” 

A wintry little smile stayed a fleeting instant upon 
Billy’s downcast countenance. 

“ I guess you are right, Pell ; I fancy we would not 
do very much grinning! However, we do not need to 
despair yet ; I have the firmest faith that we’ll see 
daylight in time, but it keeps good money tied up for 
an eternity ; and naturally we have some qualms about 
sending more after it. Well, good-night, old man ; 
look for you about noon to-morrow, and we’ll go over 
those reports of Ferguson’s again, we may stumble 
upon the snag with further searching.” 

Billy turned east. 

I say,” Tom called to him, “ I think I’ll sell out ! ” 

Billy stopped and stared at him, then gave an abrupt 
little laugh. 

“ I guess we’d all of us like to do something of that 
sort, but who’s going to buy, after looking over the 
reports?” 

“ Well, I wish to the Lord I’d never touched the 
thing 1 ” 

“ I wish you hadn’t, too,” said Bancroft. ** I daily 
curse myself for landing you across such a snag. If I 
were not so infernally hard up myself just now. I’d 
buy you out.” 

“ O, stuff!'' said Tom. ‘'Don’t misunderstand me 


PATRICIA. 


233 


that way. I investigated the affair for myself and went 
into it with my eyes wide open — if I lose my dough, I 
shan’t trot about crying baby. It’s the deuce of a mess, 
and I’m not very sanguine as to the outcome. How- 
ever, it may all turn out glowing gold, as you say. 
Good-night, I’ll be down some time in the morning.” 

Tom crossed the avenue. Little De Puyster joined 
him at the corner, rakish little De Puyster, of the 
cherubic countenance, who was always getting into 
some absurd scrape. 

“ Where are you bound. Pell ? ” he asked, over- 
taking Tom, who was striding along \^ith a somewhat 
vicious tread. 

“ Home,” said Tom, briefly. 

“ I thought you were stopping at the Club ? ” 

“ That is my bachelor residence,” said Tom with a 
deprecatory smile, — “ my family quarters, are up Har- 
lem way.” 

“ Blonde or a brunette, this season ? ” chaffed De 
Puyster. 

“ Mrs. Pell is a Titian-tressed blonde,” airily re- 
marked Tom. 

“ Oh-h ! ” groaned De Puyster. “ Freckled-faced, 
— Aery-tempered— /h/ ” 

Tom laughed. “A skin like alabaster,” he pro- 
claimed, “a disposition, sweet as Jacqueminot roses; 
and the form of a sylph.” 


234 


PATRICIA. 


“ Introduce me, old chap." 

Not you ! I’m very particular about her acquaint- 

f >> 

ances ! 

“ You know I’d cut you out ! ’’ 

I shan’t take any chances,’’ said Tom. 

“ Babies resemble papa? ’’ continued De Puyster. 

“ No menagerie as yet. Which way are you turn- 
ing ? ’’ as they reached Sixth Avenue. “ I am going to 
the ‘ L.’ ’’ 

“ I say, Pell," said De Puyster, with a trace of em- 
barrassment, “ I wish you’d do me a favor — I’m in a 
muss ! " 

“ No ! You ! " ejaculated Tom, in ironical tone. 

“ You see, one of the Mrs. De Puysters ’’ 

“ How large is the assortment, just now ? " 

Well, there’s Mrs. De Puyster by right, you know, 
and there’s Mrs. De Puyster by assumption, and it’s 
she I’m in trouble with, because she’s heard of the 
third, who is Mrs. De Puyster, by permission. ’’ 

O ! ’’ said Tom, comprehensively. 

‘‘And — you see — I’m due at the house where I’m 
disliked to-night, and I’d really rather not go ! I feel 
so sure," piteously, “ that I should not have a pleas- 
ant evening ! " 

“ Then why the devil do you go ? ’’ 

“ I — Fm 7tot going ! ’’ fervently uttered De Puyster — 
“ but I thought — if you would go " 


PATRICIA. 


235 


“ Well, upon my oath ! ” ejaculated Mr. Pell. 

“ If you could just stop there, Pell, and tell her — tell 
her I had an awful attack of — of — colic^ don’t you know, 
— in pitiful pain, wife hanging over bed, nurses, doctors, 
hot-water bandages, liniments — oh, just paint agonizing 
scene — and tell her, in the midst of all my frightful 
sufferings I pulled you down and whispered in your 
ear — gasped in your ear, would be better — to go to her, 
and tell her why I did not come — as I — as I longed to 
and — and — I hope to be better in a — a — er — week or 
two ! ” 

The corners of Mr. Pell’s mouth drooped, and his 
eyebrows crawled some distance up upon his forehead. 

“ Do you mean to seriously say, De Puyster, that 
you’d go all that out of your way to lie to a woman?” 

“ What’s a fellow to do ? ” argued De Puyster, gloomily. 
‘‘ You see the lady-loves me. I must let her down easy ! 
Yet I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble ! She didn’t 
play fair ! ‘ Bertie,’ she says, in the beginning, ‘ if ever 

you deceive me, dont come and confess ; I don’t want 
to know about it ! I’d rather remain in happy igno- 
rance ! ’ And here the moment I’ve another affaire 
on hand, she goes nosing into it, and raises no end of 
a row — because Fve deceived her ! ” 

“ But why do you get such a crowd on the string ! ” 
said Tom, impatiently, ‘‘You are old enough to know 
better ! ” 


236 


PATRICIA. 


** They want me so ! said little De Puyster, modestly. 
“ I have such winning ways ! I no sooner flirt a bit 
with a girl than she loves me madly — and I’m no St. 
Anthony ! ” 

You are the most conceited young beggar I ever 
ran across,” said Tom. “ I am curious to see the vari- 
ety of woman who could ever find fon fascinating, I’ll 
go around and do my best with your colic fantasy. 
Fetch out her address.” 

“You’ll — you’ll not make love to her?” said De 
Puyster with assumed agitation, tearing a leaf from his 
note-book, “ because, you see. Pell,” grinning till his 
fat face dimpled, “ I may love her the best of any of 
them to-morrow. I never can tell. No. 2 suits one 
mood, and No. 3 another — and I can’t tell overnight, 
you know, just the mood I’ll awake in ! Lord ! but 
I’m grateful to you, though, for getting me out of it 
to-night, and I say. Pell, whatever you do, never get 
married — these permanent wives do lead one a life ! — 
They preach to you on their rights and you can’t deny 
’em ! ” 

“ I think yoti can deny about anything,” Mr. Pell 
remarked. “ Good-night. If the lady pleases me, I 
may take her off your hands ! ” 

“ And the brevet-Mrs. Pell ? ” 

“ Have you any United States special-grant on Mor- 
monism ? ” demanded Tom, 


PATRICIA. 237 

I would sorrow to lead you into temptation,” sighed 
De Puyster, solicitously. 

“ If I elope with the lady, I’ll leave a line explaining 
that the blame lies with you. Fifty-sixth Street, West ; 
just in my way. Now get you to your colicy couch 
and don’t be seen out all the evening, proving me an 
untruther if any of her friends should chance to stroll 
by. Au revoirT 

“ Good-night, old chap, and blessings be upon your 
curly head ! ” said De Puyster, piously, and leaped 
upon a passing car, as Tom took a cab at the corner. 

Patricia, with her nose pressed upon the pane, stared 
out into the darkness. Six, seven, eight — no Tom in 
sight. She turned wearily away and rang for dinner to 
be brought. It was so lonely, eating dinner all by 
one’s self ; and Tom had promised to come home that 
night. Ah, well ! night meant any time before break- 
fast, she supposed ! It was no use waiting dinner, any 
longer ! — Not that she was hungry she was never hun- 
gry now — but dining was in the routine of the day — it 
filled a desolate hour — she’d order it up, and a bottle 
of wine — it might cheer her. 

By Tom’s preference meals were served in their own 
rooms ; it saved possible chance acquaintance in the 
dining-room, and placed them le.ss on exhibition, he 
said. A kindly-faced darkey soon arrived with the tray. 


238 


PATRICIA. 


Yo’ mus’ jes’ be suah, Mis’ Pell, as I alluz waits on 
yo,” he cautioned Patricia, as he smoothed the cloth 
with his wrinkled black hands, ‘‘ cos’ it ’curs I’m de 
on’y com’tent pusson in de house ; mos’ evy’ one 
heah jis so ongawdly stoopid, it mek yo’ sik — an’ de 
stew’d. Mis’ Pell, he jes’ a fool, too, same’s res’ on ’em ; 
’sisted yo’ want Pommard wen I knowed yo’ want 
Chambertinn. Mis’ Major’banks, she say I de on’y 
’tel’gent niggah here ’bout — an’ by de way, it ’curs t’ 
me, I heerd Mis’ Major’banks talkin’ ’bout yo’ all to 
de Gunnel — her husban’. She jes’ see Mar’ Pell down 
de street, an’ she say she pity yo’ a heap. Mis’ Pell ! 
Dere! I gess ev’yting alright. ’Cept dere ain’ no 
termarterses. Hev some good little termarterses, Mis’ 
Pell, fo’ yo’ salad ? ” 

“Mrs. Majoribanks said she pitied 7ne, George?” 
said Patricia, indignantly. “ W/ij/ should she pity 
me ? ” 

“ I donno. Mis’ Pell. I on’y know she done said it 
fo’ suah, dat’s all ole George know. I get you doze 
termaterses right er-way,” and George slid hastily out 
of the door, alarmed at the storm indicated upon 
“ sweet Mis’ Pell’s ” countenance ; and when the salad 
was prepared, pressed another man into service for its 
delivery. 

Patricia scarcely tasted her dinner. She went to 
the piano, and thrummed over the accompaniment of 


PATRICIA. 239 

a new song, A Little Red Skylark.” The words ran 
something in this way : 

“ The dawn is dark to me. 

Hark, oh hark to me, 

Pulse of my heart, I pray 1 
And out of thy hiding. 

With blushes gliding, 

Dazzle me with thy day.” 

Patricia sang them softly, and was just about to essay 
the second verse, when there was a tap at the door, 
and in answer to her call to “ Come,” an elderly woman 
somewhat burdensomely arrayed in jet and satin, with 
a tortoise shell lorgnette affectedly held to her eye, 
advanced into the room. 

“ Mrs. Pell ! ” she said, with an effusive smile, “ I 
have seen you so often in the elevators, you know, my 
dear, that I quite feel that I know you ! ” 

“Yes?” said Patricia, distantly, remaining by the 
piano stool, from which she had risen. 

“ Yes,” repeated Patricia’s caller, “ I quite feel that 
I know you, and we ought to be friends, my dear, 
living here in the same house, in apartments next to 
one another, and we could cheer one another up when 
these wicked men of ours are off gallivanting after the 
girls ! I’m sure I don’t know where the Colonel is 
now, he’s off again somewhere^ hasn’t stopped in now 
for seventeen evenings — and — er — I see Mr. Pell is not 


/ 

240 PATRICIA. 

at home,” again raising her lorgnette and scrutinizing 
the corners of the room, as though he might possi- 
bly have popped into some secret closet in the wall. 

“You are Mrs. Majoribanks ?” asked Patricia, with 
frigid courtesy. 

“Yes, my dear, and I have come to call,” the lady 
announced, selecting herself a comfortable chair, and 
branching out into quite an oration as to the merits 
and demerits of the new spring fashions, and suddenly 
winding up with almost no pause between topics. 

“ Don’t you get very lonely, my dear? ” 

“ Why, no,” said Patricia, proudly, “ why should I 
be lonely? I have not many acquaintances in New 
York, but I have my books, and my music, and — my 
husband.” 

“ But he is away so much ! ” said Mrs. Marjoribanks, 
in a profoundly pitying tone. 

Patricia paled. 

“ Why do you think so ? ” she asked, quietly. 

“ Oh, I see him here and there,” Mrs. Majoribanks 
replied, “ and he seems to have such an extensive 
female acquaintance.” An involuntary movement of 
Patricia’s felled a book to the floor. Mrs. Majoribanks 
paused for an instant. “ It must be very hard for you 
to bear, my dear,” she continued in a tone of the 
deepest sympathy. 

“No,” said Patricia, bravely, “ I — I quite approve 


PATRICIA. 


241 


of Mr. Pell’s going about — in fact, I urge him to do it. 
He is an old resident of New York, and has a number 
of friends here who kindly amuse him while I am 
housed. I am — am something of — an invalid.” 

Mrs. Majoribanks’ eyes distended in mild surprise. 

You look well ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Yes, it is a chronic trouble,” said Patricia, con- 
vincingly, ^‘it does not show! ” 

“ All the more shame to him,” said Mrs. Majoribanks 
with much indignation, “to leave you by yourself so 
much ! Why you might die ! ” 

“ Oh, no, it is not so bad as that,” hastily said 
Patricia, trying to retract somewhat, “ but when I am 
not well, I prefer to be alone, and I am feeling very 
badly this evening,” pointedly. 

But Mrs. Majoribanks took no notice of the con- 
cluding remark. 

“You don’t know how bad it may be,” she ex- 
claimed excitedly. “ The idea of your dying here alone, 
and that abominable husband of yours sporting about 
with De Puyster’s mistress (just as if he hadn’t enough 
women of his own), yes that’s what he’s doing this very 
evening, I saw him myself, and you’re too sweet a 
little thing to be so out-ra-^^ow^y deceived. I just 
said to myself, said I, ^ Helen Majoribanks, you go in 
there and you tell that poor little deluded woman just 

what you saw, just as you’d want any sister-wornan tQ 
16 


242 


PATRICIA. 


come and tell you if she saw any of tbs Colone|^s 
going’s-on, and so ’ ” _ / 

But Mrs. Majoribanks was interrupted. There was 
no trace of invalidism in Patricia now, as she crossed 
the room and swung wide the door, the little figure 
drawn to its full height and eyes flashing with fury. 
“You will excuse me,” she said tensely, “I must 
wish you good-evening ; whatever my husband chooses 
that I shall know of his affairs, he will himself inform 
me. 

“ But, Mrs. Pell,” cried Mrs. Majoribanks in crest- 
fallen agitation, “ do you not wish to know 

“ I wish you to go ! ” interrupted Patricia, her eyes 
narrowing dangerously. 

Mrs. Majoribanks gathered her long satin frock in 
one hand, and swept from the room with what dignity 
she could assume ; once she made a show of raising 
her lorgnette, on the way, but there was something in 
Mrs. Pell’s expression which caused her to drop the 
glass and hurry on. 

“ I never saio such a rage as she was in ! ” she re- 
lated to Colonel Majoribanks later. “ She must lead 
that poor man a perfect devil of a life ! No wonder he 
is never at home ! ” 

“ Hm ! ” said the Colonel, “ Helen Majoribanks, it’s 
iny pretty excellent Judgment that you’re a fool,” 


PATRICIA. 


243 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ ‘ Say what remains when hope is dead > * she answered, ‘ Endless 
weeping.’ 

When Mrs. Majoribanks was fairly gone and Patricia 
had softly shut to the door behind her, she went 
wearily back into the room and seated herself again 
at the piano. But it was of no possible use. Every 
vestige of strength had gone from her. Her hands 
lay idly on the keys, powerless to make motion ; her 
voice had not the range of the very newest baby born ; 
and the words of the song on the rack before her 
seemed to stagger on the page ; it was of no use to try ; 
the song was not a pretty one, either ; it no longer had 
music in it, in her opinion ; at any rate, she could not 
sing any more ! 

But all at once she found voice enough to laugh — a 
low, rippling, mirthless laugh, with a hopeless note 
jarring through it. 

So ! People thought they might come to her and 
talk about Tom ! and that she listen \ Thg,t 


244 


PATRICIA. 


she would believe them — that she — would — (the lau^h 
changed into a sobbing sigh) believe them ! 

She jumped up impatiently from the piano chair, 
flinging her hands out with a despairing gesture, then 
running across the room to the window, threw it wide 
open, and leaned out into the night. 

It was late. The cars crawled indolently by. Little 
warm spring breezes fanned her fevered forehead. 
There were shifting clouds in the sky, through which 
the twinkling stars peeped wherever a rift made room. 
There were no lights in many of the houses round 
about. Half the world was already sleeping. 

She sank on her knees, resting her arms upon the 
sill, and threw her head back upon the casement — look- 
ing up into that vast dome that covers all the universe ; 
the tiny twinkling worlds that we call stars ; the 
gathering banks of clouds that were less black than the 
inky night; — and she cried out defiantly to the God 
she believed in, the God that she conceived to be 
somewhere above and beyond the sky — “ It is not 
true.” 

It seemed to her as she knelt there that God looked 
pityingly down upon her; — that a turbulent rushing 
torrent was about to sweep her away — and that God 
felt sorry. And His compassion angered her! She 
would defy the torrent, the world — even the pitying 
God ! The rushing stream shpuld not engulf her. She 


PATRICIA. 


245 


was strong. She would not be crushed. All earth and 
heaven and hell might accuse Tom, and she would an- 
swer to every one of them — It is a lie ! ■’ 

“ He may not — love me — as I love him,” she whis- 
pered, brokenly, “ men do not love women as women 
love men — how can a man give up every hour of his 
existence to love when there are so many other things in 
the world a man must do ? It would be stupid to ex- 
pect it ! I have nothing else to do but to love my 
husband, as a womayi loves , — with all my heart and 
soul and brain and body ; and Tom loves me as a man 
loves — in his way. How absurd to expect any one to 
do things in some other person’s way ! Men love like 
men — why should I expect him to have a silly little 
womans heart? Yes,” in answer to an accusing 
memory, “ I have sometimes said he did not love me — 
but that was when I expected too much ! I had not 
learned ! It does not prove that because a man can 
enjoy other society than yours that he no longer loves 
you ; it does not prove that a man has ceased to care 
for you because he is now and then a little cross ! 
Why, /am sometimes cross,” with returning cheerful- 
ness, as these very convincing arguments brought 
calm, “ and how insane it would be to say I did not 
love him, because I am not always amiable! And as 
to his — possibly — being out with some one, not— 
proper ; I presume that is not a crime! I presume all 


246 


PATRICIA. 


men are occasionally thrown into company they can- 
not get away from — all at once — without being rude. 
But that woman wanted me to believe — dared to 
insinuate ” 

She sprang to her feet again and began pacing up and 
down the small salon. 

If it were truef she moaned, ** I would go away ! ’’ 
Then she stopped herself with an odd little laugh. 
“Where would I go? and with what? and when?” 
she jeered. “ Is the swimming good in the Atlantic ? 
Is the walking good to the Massachusetts hills ? Have 
I wings? And Honora told me to always save part of 
the money — it was not fair of me to forget ! ” 

She went into her dressing-room and threw open the 
wardrobes, taking down an armful of pretty frocks, 
which she spread about the chairs, and lovingly con- 
templated. 

“ I bought that,” she said, touching a brocade, 
trimmed with rich lace, “ because Tom said the 
sample was pretty. It took all Honqra’s check for 
that month, and the hundred Tom had just given me 
besides ! And that brown velvet blouse — I bought 
because Tom said I was pretty in brown! It came 
from Doucet and was so expensive. Then the month 
I meant to be economical Tom asked me why I did 
not get some light dresses for evening — he gave me 
two hundred for that ; — but that barely bought two, 


PATRICIA. 


247 


and I A^anted three ^ — so how could I save any of 
Honora’s money that time? It doesn’t seem tome 
that I have been extravagant,” meditatively, “ yet 
where did all the money go ? ” 

She went for her purse and emptied its contents 
upon her dressing-table — there were two keys, a glove- 
button, a hairpin, an “ L ” ticket, five postage stamps, 
and $5.66 ! 

“Yet,” she said, clenching up her little fists, and 
speaking very vehemently, “ I would go somewhere 
with even that small fortune — if it were true 

When Tom came home an hour later, there was a 
little figure robed in a dainty negligee of silk and lace, 
curled up among the cushions on the divan. Her face 
was very pale and her eyes fast shut. Her copper 
curls, all unconfined, rippled prettily over the green- 
and-gold bolsters. She did not speak nor stir. Tom 
stooped and kissed her. 

“ Poor little pet ! ” he ejaculated. “ Blessed if I 
didn’t promise to come home to-night — and she’s been 
waiting for me ! Well, Mrs. Patsy,” as she slowly 
opened her eyes, “ are you trying to catch your very 
death of cold, lying about in that thin thing, with no 
cover, just under an open window?” 

“ It is warm,” she said quietly. 

“ Just the time to catch cold,” continued Tom, “ and 
pneumonia I’m told is a really painful death. A 


248 


PATRICIA. 


double dose of morphine would doubtless be pleasanter ! 
How long have you been asleep ? ” 

“ I was not asleep,” said Patsy. 

“Oh!” said Tom, in a changed tone, “you were 
composing a Caudle lecture for me ! Trot out the 
topic, and we’ll have our little daily fight! You do 
add such a zest to our home-life, dear, — I often wonder 
I can ever tear myself away ! ” 

“Tom,” she said, very gravely, “ I do not usually 
ask you questions, do I ? ” 

“ You have been sufficiently intelligent to refrain 
from that pastime up to date,” he arrogantly replied. 

“ To-night I would like to talk to you a little — 
about you and me — may I ? ” 

“ I suppose nothing will stop a woman’s tongue,” 
he answered, with curling lip, “ and you have certainly 
selected a subject that should be of interest to us 
both.” 

“ Don’t be cross,” she said, coaxingly. “ Hold me 
in your lap — put your arm about me — so. Ah-h,” 
with a little coo of comfort, “ that is so much better 
than the couch ! ” 

“Thank you,” he said smiling, 

“ Now, I want to talk, and ask questions ! ” 

“ Both at once ? ” Tom protested. 

“ Where would you begin ? ” ignoring his inter- 
ruption. 


PATRICIA. 


249 

“ I should begin at the end and go backward, that 
will save suspense and possibly time ! ” 

“ I have a right to ask you questions, have I not ? ” 
“ Certainly,” said Tom, with a very wide yawn, 
“ you have a right to ask them. Are they the usual 
sort women ask? I might answer in advance: — Yes, I 
love you — no, I don’t love any other girl — yes, I dined 
at the club — no, I did not stop the evening there.” 
Patsy laughed at his very glib replies. 

** Thank you,” she said, “ but that is only a part — 
will you answer the others ? ” 

** I won’t promise.” 

Oh, do!” 

“ Oh, no,” he said ; that would be like signing a 
blank power of attorney. I won’t agree to give my- 
self wholly away.” 

Well, how much do you love me ? ” she asked. 

Tom shook with merriment. “ More than tongue 
can tell,” he quoted with mimic intensity. What 
good fun you are, dear ! — I should have to love you a 
lot if only because you are so amusing! ” 

“ Oh, dearest ! ” she cried, ‘‘ I am not jesting to-night, 
I ask you seriously — I beg of you, tell me frankly — 
down in the depths of your heart, dear, what place 
have I f 

Patricia heard the clock on her desk ticking out the 
seconds into the stillness that followed. Tom re- 


250 


PATRICIA. 


garded her with a very solemn countenance, on which 
there rested a decided frown. He twirled his mous- 
tache with one hand, and beat a little tattoo on the 
chair-arm with the one which fell from her waist. 

“ What is all this about ? ” he demanded irritably, 
at last. “ If you will kindly skip the preliminaries and 
inform me why I am at the bar it will be good of you ! 
The accused is usually informed of the nature of his 
sin before being asked to stand trial.” 

“ I accuse you of nothing,” said Patricia, gently, 
“ and if I did, what could it matter ? ” stooping nearer 
to kiss away his frown. “If you were guilty of every 
sin under Heaven, could /condemn you ? I am not so 
disloyal, sweetheart ? ‘ The King can do no wrong ! ’ ” 

“ Very prettily said,” said Tom, somewhat mollified, 
“ but why, then, are you fighting me ? ” 

“ Oh, you do not understand, dear,” sadly, “ and I do 
not know that I can make myself clear to you ; but I 
have been thinking all the evening about our life to- 
gether, and I wanted to know if you are any happier, 
because I am yours — if I make life dearer to you — if, 
when you come home to me, you are glad that I am 
here. I want to know, dear, if I fill all your heart, or 
if I am poked away upon an attic shelf ? What is my 
place ? ” 

Tom smiled compassionately into the earnest eyes 
fixed so sombrely upon him. 


PATRICIA. 251 

“ Dearie/’ he said, stifling another yawn, ‘‘ you are 
hideously sentimental.” 

Patricia rose from her seat upon his knees, and went 
over to the mantel, remaining for several slow moments 
with her back toward him, and her nose buried in a 
bunch of violets, striving to regain her composure. 

When she turned to him again, she was very quiet, 
and the tenderness had gone out of her eyes. Tom 
had risen, and commenced to undress. 

Well,” he said, cheerily, ‘‘ if the inquest is finished, 
it may be time to retire ; — I think I hear milk-carts 
starting on their rounds.” 

“ I have not finished,” she said. “ I wish to know 
where you spent the evening.” 

Tom did not reply at once. He was occupied in un- 
lacing his shoes. The smile on his face indicated that 
he was vastly entertained. 

“Well?” insistently, as the silence remained un- 
broken. 

“ I was trying to think up a proper answer,” he 
smiled, “but I’m going to tell you the truth,” with 
cordial candor, “ I have been out sky-larking with a 
girl ! ” 

“ What is sky-larking ? ” 

“ Oh, a regular old toot — music-hall, supper, — all the 
rest.” 

A pause. Then — 


252 


PATRICIA. 


Did you — kiss her?” 

“ Of course ! Why, what is the matter ? You surely 
did not suppose I never kissed a girl, did you ? ” 

Patsy slowly crossed the room till she stood before 
him. 

Have you ever been — untrue — to me?” she asked 
him, in tones scarcely audible, her face pathetic in its 
pallor. 

And as Tom looked into her shrinking eyes he re- 
sisted the desire to shout with laughter — resisted his 
first impulse to tell her the brutal truth — and yet, to 
save him, he could not utter the lie her eyes unwit- 
tingly implored. 

He drew himself up in offended dignity, and looked 
coldly down upon her. 

“ I mistook the character of your interrogations,” 
he said, superbly ; “ it is not an inquest but an inquisi- 
tion you summon me to ! I must really decline to be 
longer kept upon the rack. There are some things a 
woman must take on trust — a husband is one of them ! 
Ifl assert to-night that I have never been untrue to you, 
the question and answer establish a most uncomfort- 
able precedent ! There might come a day when 
I could not so easily reply, and it would be much 
more difficult, then, to take the stand I take now, 
if I had made a practice of allowing such idiotic in- 
quiries.” 


PATRICIA. 253 

“ Then,” said Patricia slowly, you would never tell 
me if you were untrue? ” 

“ Of what benefit could it be to you to know ? Why 
should I deliberately wound you ? ” 

“ Nothing cuts deeper than doubt,” bitterly. 

Then why doubt ? ” flinging the portiere of the 
bed-chamber aside, and continuing his disrobing. 

When Patricia came from her dressing-room and 
crept into bed, Tom was serenely sleeping. The gray 
dawn had dispelled the darkness of the night and made 
visible the objects of the room. She piled the pillows 
behind her and looked lingeringly about, seeking to 
impress every detail of the scene upon her memory. 
Tom’s clothes, flung on this chair and that, caused a 
little smile to light her face for an instant. Not one 
was empty — one held a sock, and another a shirt, and 
his tie dangled from the back of a third — dear Tom ! 
How he detested being orderly ! 

She turned toward him, propping herself up on her 
elbows, and bringing her face close to his ; and all her 
heart went out to him in immeasurable tenderness. 
What a fine, manly fellow he looked ! She loved the 
curve of his cynical lips, the chiselling of his thin 
nostrils, that distended ever so slightly as he drew 
long, regular respirations. She loved his broad, white 
brow, and the comical, little closely-cropped curls 
above, that would stray over the parting. Ayid she 


254 


PATRICIA. 


was going away ! When the morning was well ad- 
vanced, so that her leaving would excite no comment, 
she would go quietly out of the door, in just the ordi- 
nary way, and no one would ever guess that she had 
gone forever! She should go somewhere out into the 
great wide world, and make a place for herself. Surely 
— somewhere — some niche awaited her ! 

But here — beside Tom — 7io ! She should shrink 
from caresses that were shared ! She should shrink 
from being a mere crumb of the loaf ! She could not 
consent to be merely a component part of a composite 
wife ! 

And yet — to go f To go to some part of the wide 
world where Tom would not be — never to see him 
again — never to reach out her hand for his clasp- 
ing — 

She drew her breath in sobbingly, and, stooping 
gently, kissed him. Tom stirred in his sleep. “ Good- 
bye,” she whispered, all the misery of it struggling 
through the smothered accents, good-bye y *But Tom, 
half awakening, turned on his pillow, and stretching 
out his arm, drew her to him. The unconscious caress 
calmed and comforted her ; her tired little head nestled 
upon his broad shoulder in irresistible content. 

A yellow light displaced the gray dawn, and a fresh, 
dewy atmosphere burdened with the scent of spring- 
blossoms swept her fevered face. She lay very still 


rATRICIA. 


255 


not to wake him, and gradually the fatigue of the 
night made itself felt. She stretched her limbs out 
indolently ; the tired little eyelids fluttered to ; her 
bosom evenly rose and fell with her regular breathing ; 
and as the sun had climbed high in the heavens, no 
little desolate figure wandered through the Empress 
doors and away into exile. Cradled in the strong arms 
of the man to whom Destiny had so bunglingly be- 
queathed her, Patricia slept. 


256 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“ Days change so many things — yes, hours. 

We see so differently in suns and showers.” 

— Klingle. 

Our days and our nights are link after link of re- 
action — each reaction a recompense of that forged 
before. 

When night comes at the end of the fatiguing day, 
a lassitude creeps over all the senses, and we are keener 
alive to small influences — more receptive, more emo- 
tional than during those hours when the sun holds 
sway ; but at returning day we re-clothe our souls with 
self-control and rise to labor, fight or play, as his im- 
perial majesty. Circumstance, commands. 

When Patricia awoke, her bodily attitude was undis- 
turbed ; Tom’s arm yet languidly encircled her, and 
her head still snugly rested upon his sufiicient shoulder ; 
but matters of the mind took different shape and color 
as she drowsily recalled the emotion of the evening — 
the despair of the night. It seemed to her now that 
she had been over-sensitive and suspicious ; that she 


PATRICIA. 


257 


had taken a short cut to conclusions. Simply because 
Tom had very naturally declined to answer insolent 
inquiries — surely it was an insolence for a wife to dis- 
trust her husband — she had taken an absurdly melo- 
dramatic view of the matter. She had been very foolish, 
she told herself, to permit the disagreeable gossip of a 
disagreeable old woman to play such havoc with her 
and make her so abusive to poor, dear Tom ! Vowing 
she would- ne’er believe, she had strdAghtwdiY doubted. 
Tom had been quite right to laugh at her, and she did 
not wonder he was annoyed in the end. Well, she 
would make it all up to him. She would never again 
question or doubt him. He should see what a good 
little girl she would forevermore be. She would tell 
him, by and bye, that she was sorry ! 

And presently Tom opened his eyes and blinked at 
the sunlight that filtered through the shutters. There 
was a heavy, oppressed feeling somewhere about his 
forehead, and another bearing down upon his liver — in 
fact, Mr. Pell awoke far from amiable. He turned his 
head on the pillow and gazed upon Patricia with some- 
thing of surprise in his glance. Patricia put up her 
face to be kissed, but Tom only disengaged his arm 
and moved a little farther away. 

Good-morning ! ” Patsy ventured in an aggrieved 
tone. 

‘‘ Morning,” contemplating the ceiling. 

17 


258 


PATRICIA. 


“ Dont you love me this morning? ” appealingly. 

No reply. 

“ Well, I know you do,” she said, with a pretty sigh 
of satisfaction, “ or you would not have kept your arm 
so tight about me all night long.” 

Hmph ! ” said Tom, with an enigmatic smile, I 
suppose I didn’t know it was you ! A man can hardly 
be held accountable for what he does in his sleep ! ” 

“ Dearest,” she said, beseechingly, her eyes piteously 
protesting, “ why will you say such cruel things, when 
you know very well you do not mean them ? ” 

“ Yqu are very kind to interpret me so courteously,” 
sneered “ Dearest,” “ but so early in the day it is a fault 
of mine to be excessively frank, and — excuse me — if I 
must insist that I meant precisely what I said.” 

“ Do you know — that you intimate — that other wo- 
men — sleep — on your shoulder?” 

“ Do I ? ” smiling disagreeably. 

“ Would you have me think that^ Tom ?” imploring 
to be contradicted. 

Think any damn thing you choose ! ” muttered 
Mr. Pell, impatiently. 

Patricia gulped down a big lump in her throat, and 
bravely battled back the tears. “ Dear,"' she said, 
flinging her arms impetuously about him, and nestling 
her face against his, “ I will never believe a single 
evil thing against you — there is not room in my heart 


PATRICIA. 259 

for one bad thought of you, beside all the love that is 
there ! ” 

But Tom was uncommonly ill-natured that morning. 
Her very trust annoyed and angered him. He didn’t 
want to be believed in. He hadn’t asked to be be- 
lieved in. It was a blankety-blank nuisance to be 
bothered with a belief he did not desire ! What right 
had she to force her faith upon him, and make him 
feel like a double-dyed sneak, when the good Lord 
knew he had never made the least pretence of being a 
saint, and was not a whit worse than other men ! 

Well, he would just settle the question once and for 
all! He had the same devil-given right to be a 
polygamist — should he so elect — that every ‘^man of 
the world ” arrogated unto himself, and she should 
know it ! 

So he disengaged her arms with a weary air, as 
though their clasp fatigued him, and yawning a little, 
remarked, in a nonchalant tone, There are — others ! ” 

And Patricia made no answer. She felt all her body 
stiffen into marble. There was a hand of iron clutch- 
ing at her heart. It seemed as though, all in an in- 
stant, like the unfortunate people of old Pompeii, she 
was buried in a bed of lava — that she could never 
more move. She could not speak, for her lips refused 
to make sound. The balmy breezes of the spring 
morning chilled her. Then, suddenly, returning life 


26 o 


PATRICIA. 


came to her in a shiver that shook her viciously, from 
head to foot ; and gathering all the strength she could 
muster, she sprang out of bed, and ran into the room 
beyond. 

When Tom came from his bath, he found her lying 
listlessly on her favorite divan, with closed eyes. 

“ Have you ordered breakfast ? ” he inquired, with 
formality. 

No,” in a very still tone. 

“ Are we to have any ? ” 

“ As you like,” with shut eyes. 

Tom put on his clothes that morning with all the 
fuss it was possible for a man to make. He stamped 
his shoes on, and rang for a boy to lace them. He 
made a clatter with his studs and scarf-pin. He had a 
second boy up to brush his coat and trousers, and a 
third to fetch him a Martini. At intervals he threw 
things upon the floor, — a handkerchief, a shirt, his dis- 
carded hose — and, being finally arrayed, informed the 
lady in lawn and lace upon the divan, that he would 
breakfast at the club. 

And then Patricia opened her eyes and looked at 
him. 

“ Tom,” she said faintly, “ it has all been a mis- 
take.” 

“ I guess that’s right enough,” said Tom cheerily, 
striking a match for his cigar. 


PATRICIA. 


261 

“You are — sorry — that you married me?” in a 
shrinking tone. 

^ Well,” said Mr. Pell, blowing blue curls of smoke 
ceilingward, “ I suppose I might have done a sillier 
thing than marry you, but I doubt it ! ” 

“ Then why^' she cried, stung to the soul, “ did you 
do it?” 

“ As near as I can estimate, because I was an ever- 
lasting chump ! ” 

“ Oh, Tom ! ” she wailed, clasping her hands so 
tightly that the pointed nails dented the flesh, “ how 
can you be so cruel to me ? Is it nothmg to you that 
I gave up all I had, or ever could have, for your sake ? 
That I abandoned family — friends — future, for worship 
of you ! ” 

She rose and crossed the room to him as she spoke. 
He stood, with elbow on the mantel, hat in hand, 
calmly surveying her as she approached. Gad ! how 
he hated scenes! Her supplicating tones, the ashen 
pallor of her face, goaded him to fury. Good God ! 
Hadn’t he married the girl ? What more could she ask ? 
Why rake up a very dirty past, that it should be even less 
agreeable for her to remember than for him ? Bah ! 
she bored him ! She was like all women — given the 
earth, she claimed a mortgage on the space about it ! 

“ I hardly see in what way I am cruel to you,” he 
said. “ Should your allowance be increased ? ” 


262 


PATRICIA. 


Tom ! ” 

“ As to our relation before marriage — of which it 
pleases you to remind me — I remember, with regret, 
that indiscretion. The proof of your affection (if 
affection it was) was truly more ardent than wise. As 
you say, it placed me under some obligation to you. I 
have met similar obligations with money. I married 
you ! ” 

Patricia swayed as though about to fall. 

Allow me,” said Tpm, politely placing a chair for 

her. 

“ I see it all now ! ” she moaned. ‘‘ I have/<?7Wyou 
so that I would not let myself see. If anything seemed 
strange or wrong, or out of place, I glossed it over with 
my love. If you were impatient, I made excuses. If 
you stayed away, I invented reasons. I would not 
see ! But now, it is so cruelly clear ! You have never 
cared for me ! ” 

Her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. The 
tangled curls, bronze-gold in the sunlight, mantled 
the shoulders of her white night-robe, beneath the 
hem of which her bare toes peeped. But all her 
prettiness and piteousness did not appeal to Tom. 
His head ached, and his liver ached, and his con- 
science was not comfortable. He knew he had not 
been a good husband, and that he was a brute this 
very instant ; but he wished she wouldn’t take it so 


PATRICIA. 


263 

hard. She took life so seriously. She had none of 
the devil-may-care temperament of Hortense, who 
would have danced a jig at his funeral, he had no 
doubt, but who was always so comfortingly cheery, 
one forgave her many a fault — nor the serenity of Elsa^ 
who could behold her best frock baptized in beer and 
retain a complacent countenance ! 

He had certainly been fond of Patsy at the first — 
she had been so pretty and piquant — and so adoring. 
But as time passed on, she became less diverting. She 
was such a transparent child. There were no little 
mysteries about her to fascinate, no little coquetries to 
charm, you could read her very thoughts in her face ; 
when she moped, you had to know it ; if melancholy, 
her tears simply flooded you out ; and the intensity of 
her devotion was wearing — all-fired, deuced wearing! 
Bread and cheese and kisses were all very well, but 
when the kisses were served both before and after the 
bread, and sugared the cheese through and through, it 
grew cloying ! There wasn’t the man living who would 
want to breakfast, lunch and dine on Turkish fig-paste 
— and Patricia’s lavish love overburdened him. It was 
too much to digest — now that the machinery of his 
heart had other occupations. 

You have never cared for me ! ” 

Mr. Pell drew on his gloves and lighted a fresh cigar. 
“ Have you ever thought of studying for the stage. 


264 PATRICIA. 

dear?” he asked her as he moved toward the door. 

I think you have great histrionic talent — as a tragedy 
queen you w'ould win uncommon renown. My stomach 
bids me breakfast — so might we postpone this most 
melancholy discussion till evening? Auf wiedersehen^ 
lichchen mein ! ” 

“ Tom,” she called, as he closed the door. “ Tom,” 
rushing after him. “ Just one little minute — come 
back ! ” 

“ Well?” as he sauntered back to the threshold. 

She took his hands and drew him over the door-sill, 
closing it behind him. 

“ I only want to kiss you,” she said, uplifting a pale 
face, wet with tears. 

‘^Oh ! ” smiling into her hopeless eyes. 

“ I am sorry,” she whispered, for all the bother I 
have been. Good-byeA 

She took his face in her little hands with a caressing 
touch, and kissed him solemnly on both eyes, and then, 
lingeringly, on the lips ; then she gave him a gentle 
push away, and opened the door for him. “ Good- 
bye,” she said again, smiling, with sudden bravery, 
through the tear.s. 

He looked back as he jumped on the car. Her 
sunny head was thrust through the lace draperies of 
the window, and she nodded to him, brightly, and 
waved her hand. 


PATRICIA. 265 

He raised his hat, and nodded back. It was a 
beautiful morning, and the budding things in the Park 
wafted pleasant odors to him. He felt better out in 
the air. How unpardonably churlish he had been 
that morning. Poor little Patsy ! Well, she should 
not be so annoying ! She never seemed to under- 
stand him. She never knew how to take him. Well, 
he would go home early and take her out for an airing 
in the Park, and he’d ’phone Thorley to send her up 
some violets. They turned the corner. He was yet 
standing on the rear platform and leaned out to look 
back. She was still at the window, with her face 
eagerly pressed to the pane. He raised his hat high 
in the air, and she waved her handkerchief. Her face 
was indistinct in the distance, but he saw the glint of 
her sun-kissed hair, and the fluttering signal. 

Afterward he was glad he had not gone into the 
car till they turned the corner. 

As he sat down, a man he knew casually at the hotel 
accosted him. It was Colonel Majoribanks. 


266 


PATRICIA. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“ Getting money is not all a man’s business ; to cultivate kindness is 
a valuable part of the business of life.” 

Tom turned his attention to the little red-faced man 
in the seat beside him long enough to reply with cold 
civility to his neighbor’s greeting, then buried himself 
in the Herald stock quotations. He did not care to 
invite friendship with the residents of the Empress — 
it might be distinctly disadvantageous later on. Of 
course, he was obliged, now and then, to interchange 
greetings with the man who drank next to him, at the 
bar, or who accosted him in the reading-room as old 
Majoribanks had done ; but it was not his intention 
to encourage these chance acquaintances. 

Majoribanks again addressed him ; but he hardly 
heard, so engrossed was he in a paragraph that en- 
chained his attention. It was a very brief paragraph, 
indeed ; but it told him more than anything in any 
paper he had ever before perused. It told him that 
his already limited income would, in future, be yet 
more attenuated, and that where he now reckoned a 
dollar in dimes, in future, he would compute this 


PATRICIA. 


267 

splendid sum as one hundred cents ! He already looked 
upon himself as extravagant in having bought the 
Herald— 2X the price of three pennies, when the World 
could have been had for two! And he drew from his 
pocket three cigars, which he regarded with melancholy 
affection — his very last, he dubiously told himself ! In 
future, he must smoke cheap cigarettes — or a pipe — of 
clay! And the jig was up! Tht Devirs Gulch 
just the hole its appellation argued ! It had swallowed 
up their dollars, and now declined to disgorge. The 
splendid vein of copper which w'as to elevate them 
all to the pinnacle of opulence, turned out to be a 
mere streak in the rock ! Poor Billy ! It would be a 
great blow to him ! He must hurry down to Wall 
Street and try to buoy him up ! and Teddy Page — it 
would come hard on him ! He was wanting to get 
married, and was only waiting to ask the adored one, 
till the Devil’s Gulch reports looked a bit more 
promising. Still Teddy had something of an income 
left — and so had Billy ! As for himself — well, it looked 
as if he would dine at table d hote and revel in vin 
ordinaire in the near hereafter ! There was a queer 
little place in a basement on Twelfth Street, he recalled, 
where they gave you a dinner for thirty cents, and 
wine for fifteen cents more. It was said to be Bohemian^ 
and some of the club fellows had risked their digestions 
there, on a Saturday night, and had seemed to turn 


268 


PATRICIA. 


out alive on Sunday. It was a very merry little den, 
he was told, where they sang songs and made speeches, 
and went home dizzy with bad claret. He would 
probably be engaging board there the next week ! 
At wholesale, the dinners ought to come a little 
cheaper ! 

And then his thoughts turned to Patsy. Poor little 
Patsy ! She loved pretty things so ! He thought of 
her in the clover-green negligee, with its ruffles and 
jabots of real Mechlin, How would she take it to 
come down to cotton morning-gowns, with no trim- 
mings but the buttons — of real bone f 

“ And I don’t blame you, sir, and I apologize — 
I apologize humbly^ sir,” Colonel Majoribanks was 
saying. 

Tom nearly withered the little man with his stare of 
amazement. “ I beg your /^/^don,” he said, “ were 
you addressing me ? I fear I have not been paying 
attention.” 

I was saying, sir,” continued Colonel Majoribanks, 
“ that when my wife told me what she had said I was 
simply dumfounded. ‘ Helen Majoribanks ! ’ says I, 
‘ you’re a fool I ’ and she shall apologize to Mrs. Pell, 
sir! Gad, sir! she shall tell her she lied ! with 
vigorous noddings of the head, and the periods empha- 
sized with a thump of his stick. “ As for Mrs. Pell — 
my God, sir ! what a wife ! She’s a woman in a million^ 


PATRICIA. 


269 

sir ! I saw her in the corridor, yesterday, such a gentle- 
lookinglittle thing, but vfiXh. such spirit, sir! Gad, sir, 
she s a trump ! ” 

Tom was decidedly taken aback. What in the name 
of all that was wonderful was the old Burgundy Barrel 
driving at ? And he didn’t care to be told that his wife 
was “ a trump ” — it was an impertinence, a damned im- 
pertinence ! When he wanted his wife commented on 
he’d let the public know. Yet, clearly, the old chump 
meant to be civil — he was positively servile, with his 
profuse apologies — but, really, he wouldnt mind know- 
ing what it could all be about ! 

“ If you would have the goodness to explain to me 
what Mrs. Majoribanks said ” said Tom, stiffly. 

“ Well, I don’t know as I can do that, exactly,” 
lamented the Colonel, “ but she didn’t get far ! She 
had just started in to tell her about seeing you and 
that little chit of De Puyster’s roaming round (mean- 
ing no harm under the sun. I’d pointed the woman 
out to her one day, the Devil do me) — when, gad ! ” 
chuckling, hoarsely, Mrs. Pell got up and showed her 
the door! Yes, sir! Just ushered her clean out of the 
place ! Said that whatever you desired her to know of 
your movements, you were well able to tell her yourself 
— wouldn’t hear another word — stood at the door, like 
the Queen of Great Britain and the Empress of India 
(said my wife) and bowed Helen Majoribanks ! ” 


2/0 


PATRICIA. 


Tom’s face brightened as he heard the Colonel’s 
story. What a dear little wife it was ! Indeed she 
was “ a trump,” and he’d tell her so, that very 
evening! And perhaps he had not been quite 
kind to her ! He had surely neglected her a lot ! 
Poor little Patsy ! She must have been lonely — 
and how very nasty he had been to her that very 
morning ! Well, she was worth being better to I 
There’d be time enough to be good to her, 7to%v ! It 
would probably be his only diversion ! He couldn’t be 
much of a club-man on nothing a year, and still less of 
a ‘‘man about town!” Molly, and Mignon, and Jes- 
sica would have no further use for him, he would 
wager! But, somehow, he felt Patricia would not de- 
sert him ! That poverty would not daunt her ! That 
she would bear with him in the evil days as well as in 
the good ! And he pictured to himself a cottage at 
Capri, the walls buried in clambering vines; a white 
tent, hung with hammocks, in the garden ; Patricia, 
covered with a big blue apron cutting the salad ; and 
himself — looking lazily on ! No, they had not been 
happy! He had not been happy himself, nor made 
poor Patsy happy ; but the trouble was they had 
been too civilized — too conventional ! At Capri it 
would all be different. One frock was in fashion the 
whole year round ; you could hire a little villa for 
“a song.” And there was a very diverting lot of in- 


PATRICIA. 2/1 

habitants, whom you might know, or not, as it suited 
you. 

Colonel Majoribanks’ voice broke in upon his medi- 
tations. 

“ And she’ll do it, sir. I had something of a time 
persuading her, but it’s all settled now. She’s a proud 
woman, is Mrs. Majoribanks, sir, and I told her I’d get 
out if she didn’t ; and I can tell you she didn’t relish 
the grass-widow business for a second ! And she’ll say 
she lied, sir — that is^' in a somewhat more subdued 
tone, ‘‘she said she would say she was mistaken ^ — 
which amounts to just about the same thing ! ” 

Tom smiled into Colonel Majoribanks’ entreating eyes. 

“You will oblige me, my dear Majoribanks,” he 
said, airily, “ by seeing that Mrs. Majoribanks does 
nothing of the kind. I am quite willing Mrs. Pell 
should know of the whole affair, and, in fact, mentioned 
it to her, on my return home, last night. Further re- 
marks on the subject would only distress her. What 
annoyed her so, in fact, was Mrs. Majoribanks’ assump- 
tion that I had any intention of deceiving her (assum- 
ing to know of the whole affair), and that it should be 
necessary for our neighbors to inform her of my small 
escapades! Perfect confidence, I am happy to say, 
exists between Mrs. Pell and myself. She, therefore,, 
feels justly indignant at Mrs. Majoribanks’ insinuations^ 
and would decline to receive her at present, evert 


272 


PATRICIA. 


armed with an apology. It would be better to let the 
whole matter drop. Well, I must leave you here. I 
stop at this corner. Good-morning. Won’t you let 
me offer you a cigar? The shorter ones, I think, are 
the better flavor. Good’-movmng ; ” and having parted 
with one of his three cherished cigars, in the very 
amiable mood the Colonel’s conversation had created 
within him, he swung himself off the car, and sauntered 
over to his club for breakfast and his morning mail. 

The breakfast-room was nearly deserted when he 
entered. The two or three who were there bade him 
“ Good-morning,” in a tone of condolence — for they, 
also, had read the morning journals ; but Tom replied 
very cheerily ; for the moment he was buoyed up 
with pride at possessing such a loyal little wife. 
Blessed if the dear little soul wasn’t worthy of him ! 

Patricia turned slowly away from the window, letting 
the draperies drop back across the pane. There were 
no tears in her eyes ; only dull despair. The trivial 
thought that she had had no breakfast flitted into her 
mind, followed by the conviction that she wanted 
none. She drew on her soft, silken hosiery, clasping 
them above the knee with the golden buckles Tom 
had given her a few weeks after their marriage. There 
was a design of pansies in enamel, with here and there 
a drop of diamond dew. How close and oppressive it 


PATRICIA. 


273 


was ! She was stifling ! She would hasten her dress- 
ing and get out into the air ! She would order a 
hansom and drive about the Park — there was so much 
to think and plan — she could not think here, where 
Tom’s presence pervaded every nook and corner ; — 
she wanted just the sky and the trees and motion; 
she would like to drive away and away out on to some 
country turnpike, where she would meet never a soul, 
except some quaint old farmer now and then, jogging 
to market on a load of turnips ! 

Patricia drove around the Park, stopping at the 
Casino for a milk-punch, in lieu of lunch, served her at 
a little table out of doors. Then she went on up the 
Riverside, and out on St. Nicholas Avenue, and, at last, 
just as the cabby’s poor bony old steed began to 
show signs of exhaustion, she ordered the man about, 
and gave him an address in the more populous part of 
the city. 

Annette was pouring tea for Mr. Thorn when Patsy 
entered. She sprang up to greet her. Mr. Thorn 
welcomed her less effusively ; in fact, he seemed much 
preoccupied, and sipped his tea with an air of consider- 
ing that beverage very superior to conversation. 

There was a pink flush upon Annette’s cheeks and a 
light in her eye, quite unusual. Patricia looked paler 
by contrast. 

‘‘We were talking of Ned Wilkins — do you re- 
18 


274 PATRICIA. 

member him?” said Annette. He was out at the 
Fair, and went up in the Ferris Wheel with us one 
morning.” 

“ I remember,” said Patricia. 

“ And Mr. Thorn said ” 

“ I said he was no good,” said Mr. Thorn, finding 
voice, and dropping his spoon into the saucer with a 
clatter, “ I said he was no good — and he isn’t ! ” 

“ But you will admit he knows some people who 
are ! ” said Annette, with an insinuating little grimace. 

“ Honora liked him,” asserted Patricia, with an air 
of ending the argument. 

“ I wonder if he took her to dinner,” hazarded 
Annette, with a meditative air. ‘‘ He orders the most 
delicious dinners conceivable ! ” 

“ Hm ! ” said Mr. Thorn, with scorn, did you 
happen to dine twice in the same season with him ? ” 

“ Possibly not. What has that to do with it ? ” 
Everything I'' diSSQviQd Mr. Thorn. “Wilkins has 
just two prescriptions for a dinner — one you get in 
summer, and the other in winter, with slight variations 
in fall and spring.” 

“ Mr. Wilkins has evidently been your host oftener 
than mine,” said Annette gravely, “and under such 
circumstances, I can’t help thinking you are somewhat 
discourteous ! ” 

“ The fellow’s such a cad ! ” he muttered. “ His 


PATRICIA. 


275 


trousers are always a little too creased ; and five minutes 
after he knows you — if you happen to be a bit swell 
— he’s calling you by your first name ! ” 

I really cannot understand, then, why you should 
make it convenient to eat his dinners,” said Annette 
severely. 

“ Unfortunately, I was, at one time, his attorney.” 
Oh ! ” with a shade of irony. 

“ May I have some tea? ” interrupted Patricia. 

Oh, do forgive me, dear,” contritely apologized 
Annette, ** this Thorn man is so aggravating he ruins 
my manners. Cream or lemon, dear ? ” 

It isn’t my fault,” said Mr. Thorn, in a very 
dejected sort of way, “what does she want to talk 
about Wilkins for ? ” 

“ He’s very querulous, this afternoon — he won’t let 
me talk shop — or books ” ( “ Or Wilkins ! ” inter- 

polated Mr. Thorn,) “nothing suits him. I don’t 
know why he comes ” 

“ Shall I tell you again ? ” eagerly asked Mr. Thorn. 

“ Oh — no ! ” said Annette, hastily. “ I — I remember ; 
— you were good enough to praise the tea.” 

“ I come because I love you,” he said simply. “ I 
have been telling her about it,” turning to Patricia; 
“ and I might be talking in Choctaw, for all she will 
seem to understand— she talks of ' kaders’ and ' scoops,” 
Wilkins ! 


PATRICIA. 


276 

Annette’s face was aflame. She dropped four lumps 
of sugar absent-mindedly into her cup, and confusedly 
poured the tea till it overflowed into the saucer. 

Patricia went over to Annette and kissed her. “ I 
am glad, dear,” she said softly. 

“You think that to be loved by Mr. Thorn is to be 
honored?” she asked, with a haughty little toss of 
her head. “ Well, to be loved by Miss Fay is to be 
unique ! ” 

“ And I aspire to be unique ! ” sighed Mr. Thorn. 

“ I thmk^' said Annette with severity, “ it is time 
you went home.” 

“Oh, do not send him away,” said Patricia, “I am 
just going, myself, and — and then you can talk to 
him ! ” 

“ But I don’t want you to go — I have nothing to 
talk about with Mr. Thorn, — but ever so much to talk 
of with you ! ” 

“ I have an engagement before dinner,” said Patricia, 
in measured accents, as though reciting a lesson learned. 

Annette looked up, puzzled at the tone. 

“Come here, to the light, child,” she said. “ There 
is something the matter ; you are not well ! ” 

“You are always telling me that, Annette,” laughed 
Patricia, hysterically. 

“ It is so ! You are white as a little ghost ! ” 

“True ! I’m a white lady,” mocked Patricia, with a 


PATRICIA. 277 

wretched attempt at gayety. “ Now no more of your 
horrid compliments. Good-bye ! ” 

But as Annette kissed her, she was alarmed to see 
tears in her eyes, and the lips pressed against hers 
quivered like a grieved child’s. 

Patricia ! ” she exclaimed, in amazement, taking 
the little figure close in her arms. 

But Patricia wrenched herself free, laughing, and 
ran out of the room. “ Good-bye^' she called, gayly, at 
the top of the stairway, “ Good-bye^ Mr. Thorn. 
Good-bye^ Annette.” 

“ Run after her,” said Annette. “ Here ! here’s 
your hat. There is something the trouble. Tell her to 
come back.” 

And may / come back?” asked Mr. Thorn, de- 
laying on the threshold. 

“You may come in Sunday if you will not be — 
bothersome.” 

“ And to be bothersome is ? ” 

“ To talk nonsense ! It is a dreadful bore to be 
made love to, when you don’t — care for the man ! ” 

Mr. Thorn bowed. “ Good-bye,” he said, simply. 

Annette walked to the head of the stairs. He looked 
up as he reached the foot of the flight. 

Au revoir,'" she said, smiling. 

''Good-bye^' Mr. Thorn repeated, stopping by the 
rail. 


278 


PATRICIA. 


I will look for you Sunday.” 

Do not look,” said Mr. Thorn. “ I will not come; 
I might be unable to resist being bothersome / ” 

As you like,” said Annette, turning to cross the 
hall. “ I — shall be home — from three to five ! ” 

Mr. Thorn looked up and down the street, as he 
descended the steps, and at the corner stood still to 
search the avenue. Patricia was nowhere in sight. 
Several hansoms were crawling up the hill ; but he 
could not see if they were occupied. 


PATRICIA. 


279 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“ Those who have nothing left to hope, have nothing left to dread.” 

It was some five hours after Patricia had gone out 
that she again arrived at the Empress’ doors. 

All the unrest and turbulence of mind were at last 
subdued by her extreme exhaustion. Both mentally 
and physically she was utterly weary. The conflict- 
ing emotions of the evening before, the long hours of 
disquiet through the night, the insufficient sleep, dream- 
disturbed, followed by the brutally blunt revelations 
of the man who had plighted her his troth to cleave 
only unto her, forsaking all others — could only re- 
sult in a day of desperate dejection. The beautiful 
spring day seemed full of mists, the sky hidden in 
haze ; the sun’s rays could not warm her ; nor the 
multitude divert. It was no longer a great, wide 
world in which she was a mere speck of the populace ; 
but it was a world the width of a hansom cab, in which 
she was the sole inhabitant. The days and weeks that 
filled the years had all become one vast, black night, 
stretching forever into the future ; and the woes of all 
humanity were aggregated into one sorrow — and the 
sorrow was hers I 


28 o 


PATRICIA. 


But as the day wore on, there came a blessed vision 
to woo away Despair — a vision of Death in beneficent 
guise. Not the grim Death of pain and affliction, 
hours of sore affright and struggle, but Death in 
the guise of A Woman with sweet, sad face, who 
lovingly stretched forth her arms and beckoned, 
smiling tenderly the while. “Come, my daughter,” 
she seemed to softly say. “ Bring all thy burdens to 
me and I will take them from thee. “ I am the Great 
Comforter. One soft touch of mine, and the wretched 
know peace ; the suffering, rest. Many watch for me, 
call for me, pray for me. Some I shield from shame ; 
bruised hearts I bind ; great griefs I soothe, with the 
salve of oblivion. Creep close into my arms, little 
tired one, I will so gently enfold thee, and bear thee 
away — away — into royal realms called Peace ! ” 

And as Patricia looked upon the Woman a weight of 
woe was lifted off her heart. The arms outstretched, 
full of tender entreaty, seemed fond and strong. Like 
a little child, cradled by its mother, she would rest in 
the arms of Death — and forget. Painlessly, joyously, 
gratefully, she would drift over the border-land of life 
into the promised Paradise of Peace. 

And she smiled into the Woman’s eyes. 

All the day long, with every thought had surged 
the undertone : — “ He is sorry — sorry — sorry he mar- 


PATRICIA. 


281 


ried me! It was all a mistake; a mistake! How 
will I bear it ? What will I do ? ” till, like a ray of sun- 
light in the storm, came the resolution — “ I will die,! ” 

She would free him. Not by dragging him through 
the ditches of divorce ; not by wandering away off in 
the land, where, without home, or money or friends, 
she would be poor credit to the honorable name of 
Pell ; but by the simplest way in the world — the blot- 
ting out forever of her foolish, useless, erring existence. 
And it was all so simple ! A few little pellets to be 
swallowed — and all was done. “ A double dose of 
morphine,’' Tom had said. He hardly knew what in- 
struction he was giving! And it was only last night. 
Last night ! It seemed weary centuries ago ! 

Well, she would tell the cabby to turn about. She 
would go to see Annette. Annette — her only friend 
in all the big city ! She felt she would like to tell 
Annette good-bye. 

The rooms seemed very dark and dismal when she 
reached home, with the curtains drawn, and the shut- 
ters tight closed. She went from window to window, 
making everything light and letting in the cool breezes 
of the waning afternoon. And the light exposed to 
sight a little box and a telegram that awaited her. 

A wan little smile crept over her pale face as she read 
Tom’s message. 

It was so long a while since he had thought it nec- 


282 


PATRICIA. 


essary to inform her that he would not be up to dine. 
The little attention made her waver for a moment in 
what she had planned to do ; — called into life all the 
longing to see him again, before she went away. 

But she crushed it back. 

He would be home at ten — and she would not be 
there. “ Detained by meeting Devil’s Gulch Directors 
at Club, this evening. Home about ten. — Tom,” the 
message read. And he would come into the room, with 
a bang of the door, and call her. The lights would be 
low. When he turned them high he would find her 
lying on the divan. She would seem asleep. He 
would go softly about not to wake her. He would 
read the papers, and smoke, and never guess that it 
was not Patricia who lay so still — that it was only the 
face and the form of Patricia, that the little heart always 
beating so sturdily for him — was quiet now. He would 
not know, then ! 

She put away her hat and gloves, and, loosening her 
frock, exchanged it for the negligee of clover crepe that 
Tom had, one day, deigned to praise. 

Then she untied the little box. Violets ! ah ! they 
were siveet ! She would pin them in her belt — and 
would tuck the telegram in her corset ! The message 
and the flowers, did they not tell her that Tom was 
sorry he had hurt her so ! And when — he knew — that 
she was no more here, and he found his message close 


PATRICIA. 283 

to her still heart, and the violets where their odor would 
gladden the last breath God gave her — would he not 
know, even though she were quiet and mute, that she 
was grateful — for his thought of her, that day ? 

Yes — he was sorry he had hurt her; — and it com- 
forted her to know she had a place in his thought ; but 
could his tenderest consideration cure the scar in her 
heart ! could anything in life blot out the torturing 
truth that he regretted that he had made her his. Could 
anything but death obliterate the mistake ! Oh, let her 
hide from the anguish of it all. God forgive her — and 
take her. 

Her temples throbbed. She was weak and dizzy. 
She would go over to the window-seat and pile the 
pillows high behind her, and count the little pellets in 
the packets she had bought. Since she awoke that 
morning she had eaten nothing, and was faint from 
lack of food, as well as exhausting excitement. The 
milk-punch she had sipped in the park, and the cup of 
tea Annette had given her, was all the sustenance she 
had taken that day. 

She had quite a little budget of small envelopes in 
her lap, and was emptying small white disks into the 
palm of her hand. Some packets held one, and others 
two, but when she had them each emptied there were 
just twelve in all. 

They had not been very easy to obtain. There had 


284 


PATRICIA. 


been apothecaries who refused to sell even one tiny 
disk, without a physician’s prescription ; but there 
were others unable to resist her artless appeal. 

“ I only want a very little,” she said, “ not a dan- 
gerous quantity. Oh, yes, I am accustomed to taking 
it. I must write my name in a book ? How odd ! 
It is the law ? Oh, very well ! ” 

Such tiny little disks. They really did not look as 
if they could do any one any harm ! She wondered if 
they were swallowed whole, or should she dissolve 
them in wine? She had had morphine given her once, 
when she was ill. She remembered it was bitter. 
Well, she would swallow them whole, and take the 
wine, too ! There was a bottle of port in Tom’s closet, 
ever and ever so old ! They had been saving it for a 
special occasion — and was not this rather special^ in a 
way? 

And, now, wasn’t there some little, last thing to do ? 
Oh, she could put Tom’s desk in order — and the laundry 
had come up, she would put that away ; she wished — 
oh, she wished there was something to do for Tom be- 
fore — she went — away. Some last little service she 
might perform for him — but there was nothing — 
nothing ; if only a button were missing from something 
what a happiness it would be to replace it ! Well, this 
pink shirt must be tossed away — it was fading, and the 
lavender stripe, too, the collar was worn a bit on one 


PATRICIA. 


285 

point — and oh ! here was a sock with the least tiny 
hole — would he wear it if she mended it ever so neatly, 
with flat silk floss? He had always declared he would 
never wear a mended sock — but if she did it so care- 
fully that it could not possibly hurt Well, she 

would venture it, and each stitch should be taken with 
a thread of love. 

When the coveted task was completed — the laundry 
laid neatly away between wide mats of sweet Mexican 
grasses, Tom’s desk relegated to order, with inkstands 
filled and fresh pens in the holders, she sat down and 
wrote : — 

“You remember, dear, when you asked me first, to 
be your wife, I would not listen. I knew it would 
be wrong — that it was in compassion that you asked 
me — not because you felt I was necessary to your 
life. But afterwards dear, day and night — all my 
thoughts were dwelling on the joy of living always 
near you — of being yours — and having you mine. 
And I hoped^ Tom, you would ask me again ! 

“ You did ! and we were married ! And it was wrong ! 
And yet, I camiot say, dear, that I could do differ- 
ently, to-day, if it were all to do over — and you asked 
me again ! For deep down in my soul, sweetheart, 
is the treasured memory of days so dear, they are 
worth an age of pain ! — and when I have gone, and left 


286 


PATRICIA. 


you quite free — you will forgive me, won’t you, Tom, 
all the burden and the bother I have been? For, 
you see, I am trying to atone. 

“You are so dear ! I love you so ! And I thank you 
for giving me those days. It is hard to go, sweetheart 
— away out of the world — to know that never, never 
again will I be near you — never again to touch you, to 
kiss you — it is very hard, Tom, to go ! I — I am cry- 
ing, Tom. I cannot help it, dear! You would forgive 
me to-day — would you not ? It makes you angry to 
have me cry, and I am splashing the page all up — but, 
please try not to be annoyed, for I am so tired I can- 
not write it all over again, you know. My head hurts so, 
dear ; — if only — only you would come — and — kiss my 
forehead — quite gently, it would be quite well, I know. 
It — it — is very hard to go — don’t you understand, 
without one little last word, dearest, from you? 

“ Thank you for the beautiful violets, dear. I have 
them close to me, you see. I leave one here in the 
envelope for you. I have held it close to my lips and 
given it messages for you — it will tell you good-bye. 
And — Tom — when you find I am gone — if you will lift 
me up, and hold me in your arms, just a moment 
— hold me tight, you know, dear, like you used to, 
and kiss m^—just once — I think I will know ! Good- 
night. 


“ Patricia,” 


PATRICIA. 


287 


One, two, three — would three be enough? And a 
glass of port to help swallow them, and if three was 
not enough then, three more ! 

She went to the mantel and lit a Nestor ; she would 
smoke awhile — it always soothed her, when she was 
nervous — then she would sit down in the window- 
seat — and wait. 

There was a man across the way tossing a baby in 
the air, it came down chuckling, and crowing. She 
wished she had a baby ! It was such a sweet, chubby 
little morsel ! Oh, she wished it were hers ! But no — 
no — if she had a baby, how could she go and leave it, 
even to give Tom his freedom ! 

The cigarette burned down to her fingers, and 
scorched them with the heat. Oh, she must take more 
morphine. She was not even sleepy. She could not 
have had enough. She would take four this time. 
Another glass of wine. Another cigarette. She re- 
turned to the window-seat. 

Ah ! she felt strangely now. It was growing dark. 
She groped her way back into the room. So dark ! 
She could hardly see ! The divan ! Where was the 
divan ? Well, anywhere would do ! She would just 
lie down on the rug a little while. She was dizzy. 
The room reeled about her. The blackness of night 
surrounded her. Then little golden glints danced 
^bout in the dusk, and it seemed to her that she floated 


288 


PATRICIA. 


from the ceiling, down, down, till with just a little 
shock she landed on the rug where she lay. And she 
was frightened! ^‘Tom,” she called. “Tom,” be- 
seechingly. “ I — would like him to come,” she said, 
piteously. “ It is lonely — to — die — without any — 
body.” 

Then the room grew dark again, and she was dream- 
ing. They were in Canada. It was Cacouna. The 
long, low-built hotel with the broad piazza ; and she 
was sitting near two old ladies with their knitting. 
There was a young girl there, too, with flaxen hair, and 
great, gray eyes. “ But if one has been wrong and re- 
pents,” she was saying, “ and God forgives, why do not 
we ? ” And the austere old ladies frowned, and, said 
one, coldly, “ The woman with a past, my dear, is the 
woman without a future.” 

Oh, how tired — how tired she was. She would go to 
sleep — soon. Was it not time for Tom to come — she 
would like to go and watch for him, but it was so far, 
she was so tired. Oh, and the lights. She had for- 
gotten to make lights. And it was all dark. She must 
try to light — one gas-jet — so Tom would not find it 
all dark. 

She dragged herself up and tried to reach the matches ; 
but first, she would — lie — down — on the divan — she — 
must rest. Oh — she could never get to the divan — the 
rug was nearer — Ah-h ! she was falling — falling — oh! 


PATRICIA. 289 

but it did not matter — it did not hurt. “ Tom ! have 
you come, dear ? Tom / ’’ Didn’t she hear footsteps ? 
Oh, they were passing the door. It was queer, to be 
sleeping so, on the piazza, at Cacouna ! How viciously 
the old ladies in the rockers over there frowned upon 
her ; they rocked and gossiped, rocked and gossiped, 
Oh-h — they were rocking on her head ! She tried to 
cry out, but no sound came. Was her tongue — dead? 

Ah, how delightful ! She was floating on a little cloud. 
And what was this beautiful garden ? There were walls 
of pearl — and a high gate of gold, studded with gor- 
geous gems. A man guarded the gate. An old, old 
man, with long white beard and floating white locks, 
and in his hand he held a golden bugle, and a little 
cloud that bore her floated right down to the old 
man’s feet, and rested there. 

‘‘May I come in?” she asked. “It must be very 
beautiful in your garden, and I have come a long way 
— I am very tired.” 

And the old man made no answer. 

“ Where will I go, if you will not let me in ? ” she 
asked him timidly. 

But the old man made no sign. 

Then the little cloud rose very slowly and she felt 
herself starting on another journey — and she was tired. 
— why could they not stay ! “Is there no place for 
me ? ” she begged. “ I — I am really too tired to go any 

19 


290 


PATRICIA. 


farther, and I’ll be so quiet, sir, — I — I’ll not be any 
bother ” 

But the old man stopped her with a gesture — a 
gesture that waved her away ; and, with a little sob, 
she hid her face in a fold of the cloud, for his eyes filled 
her with fright. And he spoke. The words came to her 
faintly out of the distance. — “ The woman with a past 
is the woniaji wit /ton t a future ! ” 

And the little breezes whispered the words, “ with- 
out a future.” — And the echoes moaned, wit /tout 
a future.” 

Little clouds drifting, drifting, — bearing her first here, 
then there, always the feeling of fatigue, the craving 
for rest, never stopping, floating, drifting — was this 
Death ? 


THE END. 




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